


Reset to Default

by selunchen



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesomescanvenger!Rey, Awkward Sex, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Does hitting each other count as flirting, F/M, Glove Kink, It's meet-and-shit-hits-the-fan, Leia has far too much faith in her own son, Littleshit!Bensolo, M/M, No meet cutes, People solving their issues through violence, Prince Ben Solo, Rating May Change, Rey had a rough life okay, Slow Burn, Smut, Supreme governor Leia, Virgins Being Virgins, Welcome to my angst cave, With Fluff, but very consensual, does mind invasion count as flirting, except that solves nothing, imagined cheating, people with issues, sexy dreaming, sexy force healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 03:39:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 111,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17256935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selunchen/pseuds/selunchen
Summary: Maybe the reason she never told Ben about Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker, Leia ponders, was to free him from the clutches that tie her to the past.However, the past has a tendency to catch up with you no matter how much you fight it / and somehow it really wants that scavenger from Jakku to join in.-or better known as,Ben is about to shit all over his mother’s ideals, and Rey is gonna kick his ass for it - and maybe some other things.





	1. Mille

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I just wanted to write a ‘’Ben Solo is a prince" story, and that’s all there really is to it. And make people cry. Thank you  
> [Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder?lang=en) for the Alpha Read and [K8](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits) for the Beta Read (and multiple Oxford commas)

**Chapter 1: Mille**

 

“You _found_ the Falcon?”

 

Leia’s fingers still over the keyboard, while her eyes shift to the holoprojector. There she sees it, her husband’s face, clad in timid blue. The holo flickers momentarily, but his aging appearance doesn’t hide his lie. She feels her brows crinkle in disapproval, but there’s a hint of amusement in her voice, which she knows he picks up on because his smile grows in reply.

 

“Yes. I _found_ it. On Jakku. Apparently, Gannis Ducain, who _stole_ it, had it stolen by the Irving boys who sold it to some junk boss on this force forsaken planet.”

 

“They did?” She teases. The chair creaks as she leans back slightly, crossing her arms.

 

“Who knows! That’s the story so far. But the point is, it was _there_. Sand everywhere, sloppy modifications, and someone painted the panels green in the hall!”

 

“I am pretty sure that was you and Chewie.”

 

His hand dismisses her with a wave, his grumble slightly distorted through the holo, but Leia smiles regardless.

 

It feels good to smile, especially when finding herself having fewer and fewer reasons to do so. While he can’t see it from his side, her office is a mess of data holos, empty cups and discarded chairs from the multitude of guests that came to see the _Supreme Governor_ of Birren.

 

_Supreme Governor of Birren._

 

Not one day goes by where she doesn’t regret her decision to accept the position following Lord Mellowen’s passing 6 years ago. It was her duty as the daughter of Bail and Breha Organa, her duty to the surviving expats of Alderaan; _it was her duty to her son._

 

Her son who struggled so. A son unhappy as a Jedi, a son unhappy in all his roles. Maybe he would find happiness and thrive in the role of a prince and heir to the remains of her past.

 

However, with each passing year, she doubts her decision more and more, as she finds Ben and Han ignoring her and their family more and more. Han fleeing the pomp and circumstance, and Ben fleeing from the hurt they inflict on each other. Only Luke calls from time to time just to chat.

 

If someone asked her, she wouldn’t be able to recall the last time all three or four of them were together as a family.

 

It feels like a heavy stone in her chest, a cancerous growth she finds herself ignoring and instead does what she does best. Fight the Empire.

 

Or its remains that insist on resurrecting.

 

Leia sometimes, if not every morning as she lies in bed, believes it would’ve served everyone better had she forfeited the throne, given it to Carise Sindian, and remained a senator. Ben would have gone on adventures with Luke, Han would have eventually returned to _Hosnian Prime_ with her, and she would have put an end to the First Order. Would have convinced the Senate to stop it, to take it seriously.

 

But alas, the First Order keeps surging, Han is off to force knows where and her son (now a senator in her place) calls her less and less on the holo.

 

Yes, it feels good to smile, because there are fewer and fewer reasons to do so. So her painted lips tug at the edges and she stares at the man she loves.

 

“I’m bringing a girl with me.”

 

Leia blinks.

 

A girl?

 

Another reason for her smile to falter.

 

“You are?” she hears herself reply.

 

There’s a grunt and he shifts his shoulders in a silent reply as if asking her _what do you want me to say?_

 

What does she want him to say?

 

Her eyes travel across the room and settle on the large glass block window, and for a moment she lets herself enjoy the view of the freshly fallen snow on the mountain range that surrounds the palace. Leia sighs and rubs her temple, deciding to stick to practicalities and not chase whatever stinging feeling that swelled within her chest.

 

“I guess you need me to do you a favor, since you mentioned her.”

 

He chuckles. “Cutting right to the chase, aren’t we?”

 

She smiles tenderly, or tries to at least. “Han, we don’t have to pretend. You call because you need me to help you. You’re no different than Ben in that regard.”

 

“Well, you don’t call me either unless you need something from me.” It’s supposed to sound like an accusation, but it comes off as a statement.

 

Touché.

 

Han pulls a hand through his hair (a thing Ben does too, Leia thinks) as he timidly begins to explain, “She helped me steal the Falcon.”

 

“I thought you _found_ it?”

 

A muffled groan. “She helped me _find_ it.”

 

“Aha.”

 

“She’s a pretty good shooter. An even better pilot. Would you believe she learned from a simulation?”

 

“That does sound impressive, but why are you-”

 

“Leia. Listen. This kid. She was practically a slave, scavenging. All day in the sun, trading parts, for almost no food. I’ve never seen anyone eat that fast! Talked about her parents leaving her and what not - and now she was hanging there waiting for them to come back.-”

 

His gaze switches from watching something on the Falcon to hers, eyes locking. His normally brown-hazel eyes are blue, but their intensity remains.

 

“- No kid should grow up in a place like that and no one should spend _a life_ in a place like that.”

 

Leia’s shoulders fall and rise with a deep breath, understanding his sentiment, understanding what he has seen because she has seen these things too. “What do you need me to do?”

 

“I’m gonna park her with you. She’s insisting on going back to Jakku, I’ll put her off with the story that we can’t go back in the Falcon, that I need a clean ship - don’t want her stolen again. And that part isn’t even false.”

 

“ _Han_.” Her voice is testing. “If she wants to go back to Jakku, you need to take her to Jakku.”

 

With an exasperated breath, he counters. “She doesn’t know anything outside of Jakku! She doesn’t know what she needs. There’s _nothing_ there for her.”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

“I _know_ there’s nothing there!”

 

He falters, almost afraid that he’s spilled too much. Almost afraid that he has said more than he should - yet, he realizes just as fast, that Leia knows already. She knows everything. She knows that he too wanted to go back to Corellia and she knows too that he found nothing there.

 

His mouth closes and they sit in silence. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth are almost smoothed out by the low quality of the transmission and he appears almost - young and hopeful. It is a look that suits him. Leia finds it nice to see _this_ man, who in his golden days had retreated to his disillusionment, finally look passionate about something again.

 

A tinge of bitterness pulses through her veins, but Leia refuses to let it take root.

 

So she is the first to break the silence. “I am not saying you’re wrong, but she must learn that truth on her own. You’re the first to know that these things cannot be forced.”

 

“I know.”

 

Had Han been there, Leia would have placed her decorated hand on his shoulder, gently tugging it, before pulling him into an embrace. But she must settle for his projection as she tells him. “You have to take her back. If you insist on bringing her, we will take her - at least for a time. Feed her, give her a health check, and get her cleaned up.”

 

His lips pull into a full-on Nerf Herder grin. “Sounds good to me.”

 

“Han. You must take her back if that is what she wants”

 

“Of course, _sweetheart_.”

  


*

  


Han hates having a crew.

 

Han really just wants to cruise the galaxy with his hairy fur ball of a co-pilot. No need for mechanics, navigators or even droids.

 

Except for Leia, Ben, and Luke, Han really doesn’t need guests on board of the Falcon. She’s an old but sturdy lady and they’ll just break things.

 

Just look at what the previous _owner_ did to it. _Who decides to put a compressor on the hyperdrive? Foolish. Incompetent._

 

The one standard day that has passed, since their flight from Jakku, means that the exhaustion and confusion still hangs in the air and as they had lick their wounds and fix the most immediate issues with the Falcon, Han notices the girl. Truly notices her. How she hums at the taste of the freeze dried food, how thin her wrist appears, and how the sun has damaged her skin.

 

And that’s why he can’t take her back to Jakku or bring the girl with him. Never mind that she actually managed to bypass the compressor, never mind that she actually understands Chewie and never mind that fact that so far she has been good company.

 

 _Yes_. That’s what he needs to tell her. It’s a good argument.

 

Can’t take her with him. Han and Chewie don’t mix, don’t need crew and it’ll just break up their dynamic. Maybe even break something on the ship.

 

Wait on Birren. We will come back when we have the spare parts for the Falcon.

Except he won’t take her back, because _when_ he gets back, she’ll be too content to go back.

 

 _Yes_.

 

Good. That’ll do.

 

“Hey, Kid” he starts, as he tentatively sits down across from her in the cabin. Talking to Leia on the holo inspires him to try and channel some of her rhetorical skills. The sandwich method she mentioned once: one positive thing, then the negative thing and then another positive thing. She’s wearing one of Ben’s discarded jackets (black of course), clutching it tightly around her shoulders. Desert child for sure.

 

Her eyes are wide and youthful and she replies with a small, “Yeah?” The Dejarik board between them provides Han with a good distance for what he is about to tell her. Yes. Distance is good. He rolls his shoulders and clears his throat.

 

“So - um - we need to make a few pit stops before going back to Jakku -”

 

Her eyebrows rise in surprise and her mouth shapes an ‘oh’.

 

“ First. We don’t need that fat _kung_ Unkar Plutt trying to get this ship back and we desperately need spare parts and -”

 

“I’ve already been away too long!” she counters, desperation evident in her voice.

 

“I know. I know, Kid. But we don’t need to blow up on the way do- “

 

“I’m pretty sure she can fly that distance! With the compressor gone-”

 

“Kid.”

 

“ - and the shuffle systems haven’t malfunctioned yet either and-”

 

“Kid!”

 

She stops and Han feels how his brow furrows into a frown, he’s putting on his serious face. This is not going as he wanted it to. Despite her initial awestruck expression atmeeting the _‘world famous smuggler Han Solo_ ’, the girl is not the type to follow authorities it seems.

 

Had something vital not been at stake, he’d have been charmed.

 

“We _need_ to make a few pit stops and I am going to leave you on Birren, so you can fix the things that need fixing on the Falcon while we’re gone.”

 

Disbelief. He sees the disbelief cross her face and the heart-crushing realization that she cannot go back - at least not right away. Her chest rises and falls rapidly and her mouth opens to probably debate him - so he quickly interrupts her.

 

“You’ll stay with my wife’s mechanic’s crew while we’re gone. It won’t take long. Take some time off! You deserve it.”

 

Rey’s shoulders shift, her body slowly folding in on itself as she clutches the jacket closer. In a small nervous voice she asks, “How long?”

 

“A week or two at most.”

 

A nod.

 

Her eyes closes hard and she seems on the verge of panicking.

 

Okay. So far so good. She acknowledged the plan.

 

“I’ll make it up to you, kid!” The sentence echos against the walls and the ghost of Ben sitting in the exact same spot, being told the exact same thing, comes back to Han so suddenly.

 

He did make it up to him a few times. Like that pod-racing trip to Coruscant.

 

Rey is silent, her brows wrinkle, deep in thought.

 

“Ever flown an x-wing before?”

 

That caught her attention and her eyes find his quickly, immediately interested. A grin forms on Han’s face as he leans over the table slightly, a teasing wink in his eyes. “I know for a fact that Poe Dameron, the _Resistance_ pilot, often drops by - I’m sure Leia will let you go with him for a ride.”

 

A pause.

 

“Resistance? Leia?” Confusion crosses her face, until she exclaims with recognition, “By the Light, you mean Leia Organa!? Leia Organa is your wife! ”

 

A chuckle shakes his chest, “Sure is. 30 years and counting. You’ll have a blast there, kid! Enjoy it and before you know it, we’ll have you back on Jakku.”

 

Jakku doesn’t deserve her though.

  


*

  


_Birren_ is a small Inner Rim planet, located conveniently near a hyperspace lane and placed the perfect distance from its star. It makes the climate temperate, with mild winters and not too hot summers. The planet’s rotational axis is minimal, which in turn makes the seasons almost interchangeable. One day it rains, the next day it snows, the third day it is sunny, but she has hardly had any reason to pull out her winter coat or turn on the climate control in her chambers.

 

All in all, it is a pleasant place to live.

 

Because it allows for Leia to eat her lunches outside, rarely interrupted by the weather.

 

The palace, located adjacent to the Clinic Mountain range, is a mix of ancient Alderaanian and Nabooan architecture. Tall white spires, covered in local flora, and surrounded by a multitude of gardens. It is a beautiful place.

 

But the most beautiful place is her favorite spot to eat those lunches. A terrace overlooking lake Breha. It’s made of rough limestone, shining white in the sun, and dressed in crawling _Blissroot_ vines.

 

This where Leia sits now, spending the hours waiting for Han’s return, reading up on the latest news from the Resistance.

 

_Did they really think she’d sit back and do nothing when she left the Senate?_

 

As she sips from her caf, hand flicking across the holo display, she is reminded of her youth on Alderaan. Of sitting with her parents, discussing matters big and small, while the sound of their cutlery on plates filled the air, Alderaanian roses in bloom, smelling sweet.

 

Leia tries hard not to think about the past. _You can’t dwell on the past_ , she often tells people.

 

Yet, in some rare moments, when a smell or a sound catches her, she thinks about Breha and Bail Organa. She thinks about her true mother, Padme Amidala, she thinks about her true father, Anakin Skywalker, and then she thinks about the man he became, Darth Vader.

 

She lets them take hold in her mind for a few fragile minutes -

 

And then she lets them go again.

 

Living on Birren, and governing its people, makes it harder and harder to forget the past. Especially because its population consists of Alderaanian and Arkansian expats, including Alderaanian citizens displaced following Alderaan's destruction.

 

Here politics repeatedly returns to the topic of their displacement and debates consisting of: when to host yearly memorials, monetary compensation from the Empire, and how to keep traditions alive - with Leia being the focal point of all of these.

 

Ironically, living on Birren as their _Supreme Governor_ has so far meant nothing _but_ reminiscing and dwelling on the past. Everything Leia does not want to do.

 

But as she eats her lunch of Oro Bark and Kebroot, she has a rare moment where she lets all of it go.

 

 _Maybe that’s the reason she never told Ben about Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker?_ she ponders as her fork twirls the leaves on her plate. _To free him from the clutches that tie her to the past._

 

Soon, though.

 

Soon, she will.

 

And almost as if on cue, a droid announces that his highness Ben Solo is trying to contact the castle.

  


*

  


The Falcon makes a dodgy landing in the hangar of the Supreme Governor’s palace. _Probably wants to show off,_ Han can almost hear Leia remark, imagining her rolling her eyes at how her nerf herder of a husband, even in this age, never fails to act irresponsibly.  C3PO would gasp next to her, probably doing calculations of how much it’ll cost to fix the dent in the durasteel floor as the rear landing gear slammed a bit too hard on touchdown.

 

It makes Han chuckle and he raises his body to look out the cockpit.

 

There’s no formal welcome committee to greet him, except the growing crowd of staff, technicians and mechanics that have heard or seen that the Millennium Falcon has finally graced their presence - after so many years of Han shouting their ears deaf about how that ship truly is the greatest.

 

He can’t wait to show them.

 

Rey fidgets behind him. Ever since he mentioned Leia and the Resistance the young thing had been ecstatic, and simultaneously nervous and hesitant. Chewie had done his best to distract her, asking her questions about the Empire ships she pulled apart on Jakku. A curious thing - she wouldn’t shy away from kicking Han’s ass on Jakku, but it seems the prospect of meeting his wife puts her on the edge of her seat.

 

Or maybe it's because he’s basically kidnapped her.

 

Does this count as kidnapping?

 

He leans back in his seat, the leather squeaking, as he ponders the question.

  * and concludes: _nah._



 

Turning around in his seat, he gives her a small nod. “First stop. You ready to hit it?”

 

His voice breaks her out of a reverie and her hazel eyes blink quickly before she softly apologizes: “Yes - I - uh - Sorry, I just haven’t...didn’t imagine there to be this much green in the whole galaxy.”

 

Han, who claims to not be a sentimental man, finds his heart break for her all over again and the resolution he had earlier to make sure she gets away from Jakku returns in full force.

 

“Yeah. Beautiful place this is,” to which Chewie agrees.

 

She nods slowly and rises from her seat.

 

Han picks up his backpack and Chewie grabs one of the crates with unnecessary parts under his arm and punches the leveler to the ramp. At first it does nothing. He punches it again and this time the hydraulics makes a coughing sound and then opens the doors with a _hiss._

 

“Told you I’d get her back!” He shouts as he ducks his head and his beautiful wife comes into view.

 

She stands exactly as he predicted, arms crossed, dressed in turquoise dress and her hair braided in some fancy updo, with C3PO fidgeting next to her. There’s a hard expression on her face, but she smiles when his comes into view. “And you did,” she replies curtly.

 

His feet take him straight to her and he extends his arms in a _come here_ motion, to which she obliges, wrapping herself around him tightly. It’s a relief after 3 months of empty-feeling holo projections. He kisses her brow and then her lips, trying his best not to ruin her hairdo.

 

“How long are you staying,” she mumbles against his jacket. Old jacket? No, _new jacket_ , he replies.

 

“I’ll leave after dinner. Need some parts for the Falcon - a trip to Corellia will do.”

 

Nodding she pulls away. “Ben called earlier, he’s coming back in a week’s time from Hosnian Prime. Will _you_ be there?”

 

Han’s shoulders tense, remembering the last time he and his son were together. How their voices had roared, how the plates had clashed, how Leia had screamed and how hard the door shut in his face, when he tried to make amends. He grumbles a reply. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

“Han, you need to talk at some point.”

 

“I know, I know. Next time.”

 

A loud voice speaking Kashyyyk breaks their reverie and then Chewie roughly shoves his co-pilot aside and embraces Leia. The air leaves her lungs in a burst of sudden roughness and laughter. “Good to see you too Chewie,” her hands lightly patting his shoulders in a compassionate greeting.

 

If it was not for Han knowing this woman for years, she would have easily fooled him into believing that everything was fine, but he sees it. The tenseness, the hesitant way she approaches them. Leia is unhappy about something.

 

“Chewie, Chewie enough. Leia, I’d like to introduce you to Rey,” Han explains, as Chewie places Leia on the floor, stepping aside to put the flustered young woman in view.

 

Rey stands a few feet away, holding her salvaged ignition rod as a staff, stiff as a board. Han brings his arm around his wife’s waist and then truly feels how uncomfortable she is about receiving Rey. _Why_? Han is not entirely sure, but an agreement is an agreement.

 

“This is Rey of Jakku. The hero of _Mission_ Falcon. Not sure we’d even made it off the planet without her”

 

Rey nods, and with a light uncharacteristic voice merely says, “Hi.”

 

He feels Leia straighten her back, putting on her smile reserved only for political adversaries, and extends her hand, nails painted deep red. “Leia Organa, pleasure to meet you. Han has told me much about you.”

 

The dam breaks and Rey’s teeth pull into a bright charming smile and she takes Leia’s hand in hers.

  


*

  


Chief mechanic Karim shows Rey around the premises, showing her where she is supposed to sleep (with the mechanics crew), finding her a warmer outfit and taking her to the dining hall, while Han, Leia, and Chewie retreat to the residential part of the palace for an early dinner.

 

Leia is uncharacteristically silent and Han struggles to figure out how to halt the fight, which they are apparently having. So he sips the soup, pondering, wondering, planning - but his wife is not antagonistic, so it's hard to solve it - because they aren’t yelling at each other.

 

He knows how to do yelling.

 

So he does what he always does: distract.

 

“I met Lando a few weeks ago.”

 

Leia looks up from the soup, silently slurping, but giving him her full attention.

 

Han grins, leaning over the table slightly.

 

“With a _Vuvrian_.”

 

Her hand clasp against her mouth, stifling what looks like an expression of shock and giggles, “ _No._ ” Chewie grunts an affirmative and Han’s grin widens.

 

“ _Yes._ ”

 

“That man has no boundaries.”

 

“Hey, hey madam ex-senator, what happened to inclusion and equality for all species ?”

 

“I can’t believe him. Please don’t tell me you met him... _doing that_.”

 

Chewie wails a disgusted sound and Leia falls back in laughter. “How does that even _work_!?”

 

Han, chuckle whistling out of his nose, grimaces and motions _how_ with his spoon and fork. Chewie elaborates and Leia is forced to push the soup to the center of the table to avoid spilling it on the expensive carpet, giggling, “Oh force! Don’t ever tell that story to Ben! Remember that time he found some of Lando’s _holos!?”_

 

_“As if he ever let us forget!”_

 

“Hah, _‘irresponsible parents’, ‘Moof-milkers!’ - ‘why did you let a kid loose like that_!” Leia’s arms cross her chest, mimicking their son’s tantrum, while Chewie is spurting out some of the Kashyyyk profanities he remembers Ben using too.

 

Han fills his glass with more local Birren wine. “Poor kid! I’ll admit I would’ve been scarred too if I was 11 and found Lando’s secret holo stash. Kriff, I’d be scarred _now_.”

 

“You think that’s why he never had a girlfriend? Can we blame Lando?”

 

“Of course! Everything is Lando’s fault - remember how he ratted us out to Vader?”

 

“Well, he saved us later!”

 

“With poor execution! Took him 6 months to get to me!”

 

Laughter fills the heavily decorated dining room as the droid takes their plates and replaces it with a steaming main course, meatballs in Roshan sauce.

 

Leia raises her hand to salute him, “But you’re here now.”

 

“I’m here now.”

 

Han never manages to come up with a solution to their fight, never even knows why they are fighting.

 

So Han does what Han does, and leaves things as they are. Unresolved.

 

When he boards the ship, he presses a light kiss to her lips, promises to call her.

 

“See you soon, sweetheart.”

 

“See you soon.”

  


*

  


Han dies at his son’s hands 6 months later, never managing to see his wife again.

  


*

 

* * *

 

[ **Alderaan** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Alderaan)

[ **Arkanis** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Arkanis)

[ **Birren** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Birren)

[ **Carise Sindian** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Carise_Sindian)

[ **Corellia** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Corellia)

[ **Dejarik** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Dejarik)

[ **Hosnian Prime** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Hosnian_Prime)

[ **Holo** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Hologram)

[ **Jakku** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Jakku)

[ **Kashyyyk** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Kashyyyk)

[ **Kebroot** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Kebroot)

[ **Kung** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/List_of_phrases_and_slang) **:** _This was Huttese for "scum," e.g., "U kulle rah doe kankee kung," meaning "You are my kind of scum.”_

[ **Moof-Milkers** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/List_of_phrases_and_slang#M) : _A term for a dimwitted individual_

[ **Oro Bark** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Oro_bark)

[ **Vuvrian** ](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Vuvrian)


	2. Chapter 2: 01001100 01001001 01101110 01000101 01110011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me to me: I wonder what Rey would feel during her first days? She'll probably be excited!  
> Chapter to me: She is gonna feel like shit.  
> Me: Alexa, play ''I dreamed a dream"  
> Me: *cries* 
> 
> Thanks to [Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder?lang=en) for Alpha Read and plot outlining and [K8](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits) for Beta Read, remembering to dot my i's, adding my present time 's's' and adding the notorious oxford commas!

 

If anyone ever asks, Rey would describe herself as a very inventive and imaginative person.

 

(Not that anyone ever does or would.)

 

There are many reasons why she believes that term applies well to her. To understand why, we must first understand Jakku.

 

There is not a lot to do on Jakku.

 

There are a lot of things to do in terms of surviving, but in terms of entertainment and fun, Jakku is a dead place.

 

When quiet settles on the planet, when the hunger has been somewhat stilled and the sun sets (no longer burning your skin), one must be creative, if one has to pass the time.

 

So Rey daydreams.

 

Rey is pretty good at daydreaming, actually. She can daydream about anything; about star destroyers, about food, about simulations, about speeders, about places she has never been- and never will go to.

 

She dreams about islands in the middle of the ocean, imagines it so clearly when she struggles to sleep.

 

_Yes_ , besides her title as a scavenger, Rey would definitely describe herself as inventive and imaginative. Because how else would she describe how well she does it? Her dreams are so intense and clear, that they must be the real thing.

 

How does she know they are real?

 

Well, because without ever leaving Jakku, Rey has daydreamed so much about _other worlds_ , that she _knows_ exactly what it is like _out there._

 

The ins and outs of Jakku she knows. While it is topographically diverse, with caverns, dunes, plains, and caves - there is one thing that defines all of them, and that is sand. Jakku is sand. Just sand. Dull, scratchy, hot sand.

 

So Rey dreams about other worlds.

 

Her daydreams always begin the same way. She is in a wreckage, pulling things apart, when she finds a discarded holo. The holos are different, some are entertaining, some are political, but she doesn’t care about the topic, instead, she is caught up with what that particular world looks like.

 

And then it starts. She sees the surroundings in front of her, she hears the sounds, and while the holo casts everything in hues of blue, Rey can quickly imagine all the colors, smells, and feelings of that place. How it must _feel_ to right there.

 

Rey really likes to imagine the feelings of the worlds she sees.

 

She imagines sticking her toes into the grass, feeling how soft it would be against her feet. She imagines what drinking cold water would taste like or how it would sound to crush snow between her hands. Rey imagines the tastes of every item she ever heard or read of.

 

Rey is pretty good at imagining the worlds she sees.

 

Rey is pretty sure she knows what other worlds are like.

 

 

*

 

 

Karim, a soft-spoken, dark-skinned humanoid, shows Rey around the palace hangar and staff quarters, and the first thing Rey understands is that she has _no idea what other worlds are like._

 

“The pin to the door is 5623 and then press this button,” he says, as he glides his fingers across the panel and presses a yellow light. The door slides open with a screeching _hiss_ (Karim apologizes, they haven’t given it oil in a while) and stretches his arm to let her see the room.

 

It’s...different.

 

First and foremost it - looks - _whole_?

 

Something clicks in her head and Rey realizes that everything she has ever seen has not been how it’s supposed to look. She has seen many things: Star Destroyers stripped of resources, metal rusting in the dunes, things pulled apart and thrown about, beds and houses made of recycled and reused materials.

 

But, Rey has never seen a room the way a room is supposed to appear. How it is _intended_ to look.

 

It surprises her that it is _this_ that unnerves her. Not the clear blue skies, the overwhelming green, or the cold. No. It's an almost _empty_ room with a bed, a dresser, and an overhead lamp.

 

Karim seems to notice her hesitation and decides to take action and enters the room first. He proceeds to open the drawers, spitting out words like “you can put your clothes here, here, and here”, “we rise at 6 am”, “we change the bedding every ZhellDay”. He takes out a pillow and some soft looking blankets and places them tenderly on the bed. “You must be exhausted, so if you want to hit the sack, go right ahead. Or else we eat in the dining hall that I showed you before in an hour.”

 

Rey nods, throat dry.

 

Karim nods in reply and leaves the room. The door struggles to close and he punches it once, then twice, before it gives and whooshes shut.

 

How long she stands there, maybe a minute, an hour or a day, Rey is unaware, but the first step she takes toward the bed feels like being caught in the middle of X'us'R'iia‘s violent tantrums. Suffocated by sand and dust. And then she sits, and it passes instantly.

 

Because the bed is soft.

 

She traces her hand across the fabric, reveling in the sensation of something untouched by a desert, something _new_ and hardly used. It is a strange sensation, how it feels when the seams run against her palm. A low sigh escapes her lips.

 

Never in her daydreams did she imagine this.

 

And it is the beginning of one of the hardest weeks in her life.

 

 

*

 

 

Rey is tired. Rey hasn’t slept.

 

Rey hasn’t slept for many reasons.

 

The most obvious one is that it is not her hammock, not her AT-AT, not her _home._

 

The less obvious reasons are what she assumes to be irrational and incomprehensible reasons, things that surprise even her.

 

At the beginning of the night, it is the softness of the bedding that cheats her of sleep. A softness she had initially been excited about. But the longer she lies on it, the more it irritates her how it gives and flexes against her body. It’s borderline too close to sand, minus the itching and scratching, and her mind just can’t cope. Expecting one thing, but experiencing another.

 

An hour or two passes, and then it’s like everything just… gives. Her body moves of its own accord as she jumps from the bed to the floor and lies down, as Rey keeps telling herself lies: _She just isn’t used to it, it’s too soft, there is a draft by the wall, and maybe she just isn’t that tired._

 

But beneath it all, a sadness sinks deep into her belly, settling as a sour bitter feeling, because her inability to sleep on a regular - not even that fancy - bed, means only one thing.

 

Rey doesn’t know other worlds.

 

The durasteel floor is cool against her forehead and she tightens the blanket around her body. There are no tears, but her eyes burn and her fingers fidget as she fights one particular urge. Something she has done every day for the past 14 years.

 

To mark the day.

 

Her finger traces a line on the floor and as the unnatural coldness sets in her body, she slowly drifts into a mostly broken sleep.

 

And that is why Rey is tired, totally beat, when she hesitantly steps into the dinning hall - hunger winning over exhaustion and social trepidation.

 

Eating in groups is an unusual activity for her, a solitary creature such as she is. She stuffs her mouth and feels her stomach fill to the brim, to the point of almost feeling nauseous.

 

A few of the crew members glance at her, but no one comments or gives her judging looks - almost as if they too know that kind of hunger. Rey is not sure if she feels comforted or if the understanding concerns her.

 

So she just eats.

 

A lot.

 

Eating is one of the many things she had looked forward to and when she had her first taste of anything else but Jakku rations aboard Han’s ship, Rey knew that she would be in for the experience of a lifetime.

 

And it is.

 

Sour, fatty, salty, and sweet. All things she has heard the words for, but never truly understood until the moment she came to Birren. She consumes and savors anything - even the things she doesn’t like! Even the things other mechanics would frown at and complain about. She eats things so sweet she spits them out, things past their expiry date, things that smell disgusting.

 

She does not allow herself to not have the experience of tasting.

  


*

 

 

For a day or two, Rey believes she is getting by okay. She sleeps poorly still, but she finds that the floor is good - if you prepare before going to bed - stretching all her muscles and maybe bringing a pillow.

 

She follows a familiar pattern: she washes herself (with a cloth, no need to waste water), goes to eat, then to the hangar, watches the mechanics work, eats, goes back and watches them again, eats, goes to bed and tries not to draw a line on the floor.

 

On the fourth day, when she goes to watch the mechanic crew work on an M-68 land speeder, she finds herself suddenly taking over; screwdriver and torch in hand as she fixes the speeder’s engine.

 

It feels good to use her hands, she knows how to do this, how to take stuff apart and put it back together.

 

They are impressed by her and take to showing her around, introducing her to all the tools, machines, and tasks.

 

This is the second time she finds herself unnerved by her surroundings. As she moves about and around, she notices how everything has a place and a purpose. Everything is… stylish, lavish, and expensive. Even with it being a garage and hangar, the floor is undented, almost new; the tools each have a specifically marked spot to hang them, and the cables, threads, and wires trail carefully mapped routes across the rooms.

 

It’s designed to look… beautiful. It is designed with intent.

 

Jakku does not look like this.

 

She is reminded of her small room all over again, how the world is supposed to appear. It is as if the world shouts at her, telling her how little she understands its mechanics, its rules and its layers.

 

She only knows the lowest of the low - the life of a slave and a scavenger.

 

As she pulls apart another red wire, tangled up in a green and orange, she becomes angry. A hurtful heat surges through her veins and she attempts to remind herself that things are good, things are well, things are as they are supposed to be.

 

It passes like a fleeting shadow -

 

 

*

 

  
          - only to return in full force at the most inopportune moments!

 

“So, when I was a kid on Gatalenta, we used to take these broken T-47 Airspeeders and try to fix them -”

 

On Jakku, days would pass without Rey ever speaking to a person.

 

“Rauwl would try to find new hydromotors and I would try to wire - what was it - these green wires-”

 

At night she would dream about talking, about small things and big things, about talking to her parents. Oh, how that thought calmed her and spurred her hope for her parent’s return. How she would imagine spending hours and hours telling her parents about her day, her trips, her findings, and her adventures -

 

             - and sometimes she would say them out loud, just in case, they could hear her.

 

“- you know, the ones that go straight to the hydraulics to the hyperspace things -”

 

Rey so desires to talk, that it surprises her, how angry, and frustrated she gets with the other mechanics and their _talking_ . How their talking about the smallest things _all the time_ is so draining and exhausting and puts her on edge and truly, all she wants is for _Gax in the corner to shut his kriffing mouth about speeders!_

 

“- or was it the controls? You know I’m not really sure,” Gax says absentmindedly as he hands her the drill.

 

“...”

 

“So -it was Rey, wasn’t it? How did you learn to become a mechanic?”

 

Rey mumbles something incoherent under her breath, pushing the _on_ button and testing the drill. The sound gives her a brief reprieve from his ranting.

 

One thing is the talking, then there is the small-talk when they work, the talking when they help her and the talking through the walls - and Rey doesn’t know how to talk like that. Most of the time Rey finds that it is not the noise _as such_ that angers her, but the fact she doesn’t know how to talk - because...what do people talk about?

 

It becomes one of the many things that disappoints her because it reminds her of how she does not know other worlds.

 

The drill drowns Gax’s narration and after a while with no opportunity to continue their one-way conversation, he stands and leaves.

 

She only knows Jakku.

  


_*_

  


“What’s that?” Karim asks on the fifth day since Han left, pointing his leather-gloved hand to her cheek. Rey raises her eyes to his, and places her own uncovered hands to her face. They feel hot.

 

It’s an unusually warm day. The fragrant smell from the gardens overwhelms the hangar and the sun shines brightly, making the air thick and humid.

 

It feels like a really bad day.

 

While she is not unfamiliar with flowers, she only got them in small amounts from the night blossoms she would find in the desert. The sheer avalanche of smells on Birren forces Rey to spend the entire morning trying to keep her brain at bay, combatting the many sensations that invade her nose. Her head is heavy, her throat scratchy.

 

So she is a bit slow to answer.

 

“I don’t… know?”

 

“Your cheeks are all red. You feeling okay?”

 

Now that she thinks about it, she does feel a bit hot.

 

However, before she can reply, she sneezes loudly into her hand. Once, twice, three times in a row.

 

There’s an amused glint in his eye mixed with concern. Karim pulls the glove off his hand and thoughtfully places his palm against her forehead. He mutters, “You don’t have a fever, but maybe you should go to the medbay anyway.”

 

“it’s just a flush, no worries.”

 

It isn’t just a flush though, the doctor tells her as she looks over the scan (where Rey is told she is too thin, too malnourished and stubborn for her own good).

 

_Allergies_ , the young female doctor with a gap between her teeth tells her.

 

Apparently, that is fixed with a shot of something here, there and there. Vaccines, nutrients and some light bacta, the doctor mentions in passing.

 

_A common thing, she is told. The prince gets them every rotation too._

 

Rey’s cheeks and eyes sting with embarrassment.

 

She had come to terms with how she might not know other worlds, but now those worlds seem to not want to know of her.

 

 

*

 

_Han_ has been gone a full 7 standard days when Rey finally breaks.

 

Her body is tired, her mind is tired, she aches, she hurts, she’s overwhelmed, and the constant stress of everything unfamiliar hits her like a cargo freighter jumping straight out of hyperspace.

 

So she flees into the hangar. Crawls into the basement, before finding a hidden enough spot between a bunch of utility pipes that will do.

 

Then she breaks down into a fit of sobs.

 

Hot tears trail down her cheeks.

 

Her body heaves as she struggles to breathe.

 

Rey wants to go _home_.

 

She doesn’t care about how bland the food is and that it sometimes gets covered in sand. She doesn’t care about her skin blistering because she forgets to cover her arms. She doesn’t care about the loneliness.

 

Because her family will be back.

 

A lot of things cross her mind during this moment behind the plastic tubes.

 

The first is how quickly and efficiently she could steal a ship and fly back to Jakku. She needs to get back to her room, get her staff, get her things before she would hotwire a small freighter and burst out of the hangar door.

 

The second thing is what would Han think when he would inevitably return to Birren and find her gone. He would be understanding, for sure, but he would also be disappointed.

 

He would probably think her a coward. Han has left his home planet many times, been in far worse situations than she has, and he didn’t run away when things got tough. He would go into obvious death-traps willingly to help the universe.

 

Han would laugh at how poorly Rey was adjusting.

 

And he said he’d come back for her. A week or two. Yes. She could wait. Rey is good at waiting. She needs to trust him. He is Han Solo after all and He even put her here with Leia Organa.

 

It would be rude to leave, when being trusted to… Leia Organa.

 

_The_ Leia Organa.

 

Rey scoffs, the tears slowly ebbing, as she remembers Trelo showing her holo after holo of the legendary princess in the quiet night in her desert home. How disappointed she had been that no one ever came to visit, that Leia had never been to Jakku. _Is she alive_? she recalls asking and Trelo merely responded that he did not know.

 

Oh, how she had wanted to meet her. She imagined meeting Luke Skywalker, Han Solo as well, and here she is. Sleeping next to the legend herself and all she is is unhappy and ungrateful.

 

“You got what you wanted Rey,” she chants to herself, as her cheeks dry and her head bumps softly against the durasteel wall.

 

Then the third thing comes to mind, as she reminds herself of one thing she is good at.

 

Waiting.

 

She can wait.

 

It’s Han Solo.

 

He will be back.

 

And her family will be back.

 

She draws a deep breath in, filling her lungs to the brim as she collects herself and then silently crawls out from her hiding place.

 

Somehow letting go for a little while felt good, felt nice.

 

The thought puts a dry smile on her face and she looks around, trying to figure out the time.

 

It makes her pause.

 

And then laugh in disbelief at how quickly she has adjusted to the mechanics of this world.

 

Time.

 

Keeping time is not something she has ever done. Rey knows it and how it works, but she orients herself from sunrise to sunset. Never using a timing device - time has no relevance when scavenging for survival. No time to clock in or out. You work until you get food on the table.

 

She only counted every setting sun since her parents left. Her own measure of time.

 

That is not how time works on Birren though. Here, everyone looks at a standardized clock, trying to keep imaginary deadlines or determine a date - as if that matters.

 

Time.

 

What a curious thing.

 

A thing that cannot be reversed, cannot be turned off. A thing you cannot stop. You can never go back in time.

 

And they count it.

 

Now Rey counts it.

 

Because she knows some of this world now.

 

She is about to step out back into the sun, when Rey feels a familiar prickle in her neck, like something wants her attention. Desperately.

 

She stops in her tracks, and for a while she considers ignoring it. She always has. It was a decision she had taken easily on Jakku, because whenever she felt the prickle and submitted herself to it, it only leads to disappointment and struggle.

 

The last time she gave in, she had found that Ghtroc 690, fixed it and nursed it, only to have it stolen by two of her most trusted friends.

 

Turns out they weren’t that friendly after all.

 

It was all that stupid prickle’s fault. How it had whispered to her to trust them, to go look here and there, her companions would get her where she needed to go. And then she remembers standing there, proud and ready to get a years worth of rations, only to see the ship fly up and up, exiting the atmosphere.

 

She has ignored the prickle ever since.

 

Yet, here it is again. Not insistent, more like a soft-spoken suggestion. As if it almost asks her to trust it again. It’s a tender caress, telling her that it is up to her - but whatever it is that it wants to show her, it promises that she _wants_ to find it.

 

Rey is homesick enough that she lets it.

 

And the prickle reminds her of home.

 

The air turns ecstatic when she turns on her feet and walks past the brown hangar walls towards the repulsor lift. It rewards her, it feels good to go there and her fingers tingle ever so slightly when she presses the button to the lowest floor.

 

The ride there feels too short and the air hums with satisfaction and now the soft prickle in her neck has turned into a full-bodied goose bump.

 

It feels right to do this.

 

She steps out of the lift and follows the sensation slowly - _turn to the right_ \- letting it guide her through the basement labyrinth, her hand tracing the surface of the walls in an almost dreamlike haze.

 

It has never felt like this.

 

It has never felt like she knew exactly what she was doing.

 

She stops in front of door, hidden away in the back of a hallway. The door is locked, it needs a password, but as she steps closer to touch the panel, it peeps, glows green and opens on its own.

 

There is something there for her and she doesn’t hesitate to cross the threshold into the darkness.

 

Her eyes take a moment to the adjust, as no automatic light turns on when she enters, but there she sees it; boxes on boxes stacked on top of each other. Some labelled, some not. She reads the words carefully to herself.

 

“Bedroom L, Bedroom H, Kitchen, Dining room, Dining room, Office, Bedroo-”

 

She stops at the box, marked _Bedroom B_ , and her hand automatically reaches for the clasp at the top keeping it locked. It unhinges easily - almost too easily, and she opens the lid with eager hands.

 

Toys.

 

Lots and lots of toys.

 

A surge of happiness overwhelms her. As if she forgot them. As if she had once played with these, grown up too fast, left them behind for a droid to clean them up and put them away - never to be played with again. It feels like loneliness, like too many hours spent playing with them waiting for someone to come back, to kiss her goodnight -

 

But they never do.

 

There’s a knot in her throat and she traces her fingers over the old looking _tooka_ doll, then the speeder, then the puzzle.

 

She remembers every single one, or it feels like she does, because when she thinks about it, she doesn’t really have any memories of herself playing with them. They just feel familiar.

 

Like lonely nights, numbed by games.

 

Suddenly, one stands out. It doesn’t initially, but now that she sees it, she knows it is a favorite.

 

A miniature Corellian freighter. Just like the Millennium Falcon.

 

She picks it up and studies it, pressing a button she just knows where to find. It does nothing. Rey frowns, she doesn’t remember what it is supposed to do, but something should happen when she presses that button. It must be broken.

 

The prickle in her nape tries to tell her something, as she moves and turns the toy in her hand, trying to figure out how to turn it on. It whispers to her.

 

_It’s broken._

 

_You could fix it._

 

And Rey decides that yes, she could. She wants to.

 

_*_

 

_That night Rey dreams for the first time since she came to Birren._

 

_She dreams of night blossoms._

 

_She dreams of burning. Of fire. Of salt. of earth._

 

_She dreams she’s flying. Flying through space, floating, weightless, unimportant._

 

_She dreams of many stars, then only about two stars. Two stars that wants to converge, but can only orbit around each other, never meeting._

 

_She dreams that she flicks one of the stars softly with her finger. It bounces, flips and then the stars begin to merge in a brilliant blue and red light._

 

_*_

 

Rey wakes up sweating, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her heart pounding against her chest.

 

Rey has not slept properly in many days and as she turns to orient herself, her eyes fall to the toy.

 

Her only comfort for the loneliness she feels.

 

She instinctively reaches with her arm and roughly grabs the toy, pressing it against her chest as she folds her legs and bends her body. Tears fall and pool on the floor.

 

And then she hears it, as she always has.

 

_I’ll come back for you, sweetheart._

  


*

 

That night, Rey falls asleep on the floor, cradling the toy to her chest.

 

Seven lines are scratched into the wall above her bed.

 

Rey counts her own time.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**  
> [AT-AT](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/All_Terrain_Armored_Transport)  
>   
> Fry, Jason (2015), Star Wars: The Force Awakens: Rey's Survival Guide, Printers Row.  
>   
> [Gatalenta](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Gatalenta)  
>   
> [Ghtroc 690](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Before_the_Awakening)  
>   
> Houser, Jody(2018), Star Wars: Forces of Destiny—Rey, IDW Publishing.  
>   
> Rucka, Greg (2015), Star Wars: Before the Awakening, Disney Lucasfilm Press.  
>   
> [Time](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Time)  
>   
> [Tooka doll](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Tooka_doll)  
>   
> [Trelo](https://www.astarwarscomic.com/comics/star-wars-comic-12-hope/)  
>   
> [T-47 Airspeeders](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/T-47_airspeeder)  
>   
> [ZhellDay](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Zhellday)  
>   
> [X'us'R'iia](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/X%27us%27R%27iia)


	3. Chapter 3: Copper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I just wanted to write a ‘’Ben Solo is a prince" story, and that’s all there really is to it. And make people cry. Thank you  
> [Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder?lang=en) for the Alpha Read and [K8](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits) for the Beta Read (and multiple Oxford commas)

**Chapter 3 - Copper**

 

On the morning on the eighth day, something vital happens.

 

When historians look back, trying to retell this story for the next thousand years, they often miss this moment. This small, seemingly insignificant interaction, yet an interaction that would cause the entire universe to shift - and they miss it. 

 

However, who can blame them? In the telling of grand adventures and godly transformations, we often tend to look at the bigger, more exciting breaking points for our characters. Our heroes. Our villains. 

 

Yet it remains an uninteresting fact that it is the small actions that truly set things in motion. It can be a gaze, a conversation, or a chance meeting, however missable it may be, that causes ripples in the world. Like a single drop in the ocean, cascading into a wave dragging across the ocean floor to then irrevocably land on the shore - bringing judgment, good or bad, to the sand, the plants, and the people.

 

What we must understand, though, to be able to see the coming of  _ this _ wave, is what transpires on the eighth day on Birren.

 

In the hangar of the Supreme Governor Leia Organa sits a young girl. A girl from Jakku. A girl who finds herself in a strange place through no fault of her own. A girl who does not thrive on this planet. A girl who wants to go home.

 

The girl is good at waiting, but she cannot wait for both her family and Han Solo to come back. So she lingers in the hangar, holding on for nightfall, for the technicians to sleep before she can steal a ship and fly back to Jakku - for her family.

 

Had this happened, the story the historians would tell would be quite different - quite sad.  The story would have had a predictable conclusion. 

 

Rey would return to Jakku, drag her feet across the sand to her fallen Hellhound, scratch her marks into the metal and then go look for salvageable goods. She would live an existence in solitude, her parents never returning, and in time she too would perish in the sand. Forever forgotten, forever unfulfilled.

 

Nothing seems to be likely to prevent this timeline from happening -

 

And then an X-wing enters the atmosphere.

 

Almost as if the Force knows it needs to push.

  
  


*

 

“Try moving the  _ motivator, _ ” Rey mumbles, as she fills her mouth with a stuffed bread roll from lunch, her sticky fingers pointing to the mess of wires and mechanics in the open hatch of the Speeder Bike. She licks the crumbs gently off her fingers while she concentrates on the task at hand. The slightly older technician nods affirmatively and begins to manually turn the assigned piece to a new spot.

 

Nothing happens at first, but then a clank and a clunk, and the engine starts to hum and the lights turn on. 

 

“Yes!” the technician exclaims and turns to Rey with a bright smile. 

 

Rey returns it hesitantly, but his smile is infectious and hers transforms into a full-fledged grin. “It’s always the motivator on these old models.”

 

“You really know your way around this stuff,” he says with clear admiration in his voice. 

 

Rey shrugs.

 

“It’s worth more if it works than if it doesn’t.”

 

“What about this part, you think you could get it to work?” He points. Rey leans forward, over him, to give it a better look. The wires look a bit burned, but salvageable.

 

“Should be able to. If you get it out I can take a look at it over at the welding table.“

 

“No problem Rey! Also - thank you - it’s good to have you here.”

 

The sentiment is probably not supposed to make her feel sad and ashamed. But knowing her plan to steal a ship in the dead of the night, because she just can’t stay, it does. Her throat dries and she just does a quick nod with her head, before taking the  _ plasma phase coil  _ from his hand and moving to the work table in the back of the hall.

 

She feels herself hunching as she welds, cuts, and tests the little piece of machinery. Trying to appear as small and insignificant as possible. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, because the staff is extremely social - and just as Gax is on his way to talk her ear off again, the unmistakable sound of iron thrusters fill the hangar.

 

“Is that -!?” A female technician exclaims and Gax stops in his tracks. 

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Rey notices how everyone ceases working and instead hastens to the X-wing that is now parked neatly in the entrance of the hangar.

 

_ An X-wing. _

 

Rey turns too and lets herself admire the plane from a distance, watching as the crowd circles the pilot. There’s a bright smile on his face as he jumps from the cockpit, black helmet still on. 

 

The crowd laughs and murmurs at a joke and Rey suddenly finds herself moving to get a closer look at the ship - and the pilot.

 

The staff in the hangar only consists of eleven technicians, but the pilot is effectively shielded from her view and she has to stretch her neck to get a good look at the underside of the starfighter in order to see where the new  _ circuit multiplexer _ would be - and then her knees bump into something hard.

 

“Oi!” she exclaims and turns to see what was blocking her path.

 

An orange BB-unit stands in front of her, impatient with its master: the pilot who is dazzling every member of the staff, his arms eagerly co-narrating a story. 

 

It beeps a complaint but otherwise makes no effort to acknowledge her. 

 

Rey blinks. Its antenna is bent.

 

“Hey,” she tries and the droid swirls quickly to take her in, and it looks -  _ suspicious _ ?

 

“Your antenna is bent,” she says matter of factly, then bends down on her knees, and with adept hands corrects the metal transmitter on its head. 

 

The droid remains still, no beeps escaping it. 

 

“Shouldn’t roll around with a bent antenna.” Her fingers trace the thick piece of wire, inspecting it for bumps, before letting it go. “There. Much better.”

 

A pause. 

 

Then the droid squeaks a pleasant beep, bumping into her legs firmly in a show of loving gratitude, beeping so fast it almost becomes nonsensical. A surprised laugh escapes Rey's lips and she strokes her hand across the droid’s dented and faded head paint. “Oh yeah, that would have been embarrassing for you. Glad I caught it huh?” 

 

A beep full of praise. 

 

“You must have been in a real hurry. To not notice how bent it was.” 

 

The droid proceeds to quickly recount an intense tale of escaping a planet, and when Rey pries for more detail it merely says,  _ ‘classified’ _ .

 

“Classified? Dangerous stuff you’re doing then. So, where are you from? Haven't seen a lot of your kind where I'm from. You're new tech after all.” 

 

Another set of beeps and Rey’s breath hitches, “You're with the  _ Resistance _ ?” Her eyes fall to its master, dressed in a suit of orange. How could she have missed it?  _ The Resistance. _

 

Giddiness surges from the pit of her stomach and Rey realizes this must be what it feels like to be starstruck. Memories engulf her like a warm blanket. Hours spent imagining the life of an X-wing fighter,  _ Dosmet Raeh’s _ helmet too big on her small head, but  _ oh the adventures  _ she had alongside her handmade  _ Rebellion _ pilot. 

 

And now, here, right in front of her, stands a  _ true _ pilot, a  _ genuine _ Resistance member.

 

If Rey could be anything in the world, she would be a pilot - and if you asked, she would prefer to be a Resistance pilot.

 

Just as if on cue, the pilot turns his tanned face towards her and his droid, soft dark curls framing his face and stubble from days of not shaving visible in the light. All in all, he has a pleasant face to look at. And he is looking right at her. 

 

Rey’s breath catches and then he moves towards them, his hand extended, fingers outstretched. Before she even has time to react, her hand is in a vise grip, being shaken enthusiastically. “Hello there! Seems like BB-8 has found a new pal over here. Is that right, eh?”

 

The droid beeps affirmatively and the pilot nods his head in recognition. “Fixed your antenna? Didn’t think you were that vain.” His head turns to Rey once more and with an air of cockiness says, “Poe Dameron! You seem new?”

 

“Ah-eh-yes... I - uh- have been here a week.”

 

“Yes, that makes sense. Haven’t been back here for a month and what a month, BB-8!” The droid beeps in recognition and grumbles. Poe still hasn’t let go of her hand. “What was your name, again?”

 

“Oh. It’s Rey.” Her eyes fall to their interlocked hands and almost as if the pilot suddenly realizes how long he had been shaking her hand, he withdraws it. 

 

“Well nice to meet you Rey! I hope these  _ laser brains _ over here don’t work you too hard.” The staff snickers in the background, as if there’s an inside joke she is not allowed to know.

 

“Oh, no, I-I don’t work here.”

 

“Of course you do!” Gax shouts from the crowd. Shell, a female Twi’lek, punches him on the shoulder. “Then you should pay her for picking up your slack!” another staffer interrupts and as they discuss the nature of her stay, Rey finally gathers up her courage.

 

“You’re with the Resistance?”

 

Poe blinks and then a perfect toothy white grin crosses his face. “Best pilot in the galaxy.”

 

“I have always wanted to be a pilot,” she blurts in a soft whisper and Rey almost cringes at the awkwardness of it, yet keeps going. “I loved flying the old Empire flight simulators -  _ Tie-fighters, A-fighters, _ you name it.” A deep breath. “But - I always wanted to fly an X-wing. But you couldn’t do that on those simulators.” Another breath and then in an even lower voice she continues, “I hoped I’d find one that still works in the sand one day and take it for a ride.” 

 

Poe is still for a while, as if he is taking her in. He probably tries to make sense of the pink on her cheeks and then he says, “Sand?”

 

Her back straightens, “Oh. I’m from Jakku.”

 

The staff is still bantering in the background when Poe’s heavy, gloved hand lands on her shoulder, squeezing it tight. He is still smiling, although more pitying than joyful.

 

“I’ll teach you how to fly her when I come back from whatever Leia wants me to do. Promise!”

 

Rey blinks.

 

“You will?” Does she sound as skeptical as she feels?

 

“Of course! Just stay put for a week or two and then I’ll be back.”

 

_ Wait, what… _

 

BB-8 bumps her leg again, sputtering random beeps and rushing toward Poe. The pilot winks at her before breaking into a light run while waving at the staff, shouting light-hearted ribbing and disappearing into a repulsor lift that will take him to the palace above.

 

_ … He wants to teach me how to fly an X-wing... _

 

The staff stares briefly at Rey, who stands immobilized, as if struck by lightning, before returning to their tasks.

 

_ … I get to fly an X-wing... _

 

Her hand reaches out of its own accord and traces the black paint on the starship, blaster fire evident on its body. It recounts a life of adventure, of excitement - of purpose.

 

_ … by a Resistance pilot! _

  
  
  


*

  
  


“What do you mean Kor Sella hasn’t finished her report yet?” Leia complains to  _ the LEP servant droid _ as Poe Dameron stuffs his mouth with Arkansisian meatloaf, waiting for whatever Supreme Governor business Leia has to endure before they can return their attention to the reason for his visit.

 

He spends the time taking in the room.

 

While Poe is no stranger to opulence, a common feature he experienced as a pilot for the New Republic, the obvious decadence of the Birren palace always unnerves him. Even this tiny dining room, probably meant for less distinguished guests, consists of high vaulted sky blue ceilings, elaborate floor to ceiling stained glass windows, and furniture made of expensive carved wood. Even the cup before him, filled with a rare Alderaanian wine but untouched (he has to fly later), is made of copper encrusted in diamonds and rubies. It is the kind of ridiculous extravagance that Poe finds himself chuckling at, and while it was all inherited by Leia, he can still clearly see her roll her eyes at the gold columns and platinum dashboards.

 

While she may look the part, her hair done in an elaborate arrangement of braids and her dress made of fine silk and rare thread, he knows that she knows the importance of when to keep up appearances and when not to - and she prefers not to. 

 

It is one of the things that persuaded him to join the Resistance cause. Leia is the kind of leader that has her heart in the right place and is as sharp as a tack - unlike the generals and lieutenants of New Republic Defense Fleet that happily turn a blind eye when the First Order violates the Galactic Concordance.

 

Opulence is the mask Leia choses to wear to enable access to power and influence, but Leia cares not for the material wealth she possesses.

 

Poe smirks, feeling pride and tenacity surge through his body. 

 

His mother would have been proud of him.

 

“My apologies, being a figurative monarch does have its obligations,” Leia mumbles as she sweeps a pen across her holopad, signing some sort of document, he assumes. “Not the kind of retirement I had hoped it would be.”

 

Poe chuckles as he sips from his water and Leia mutters, “A better retirement than when I decided to cruise the galaxy with Han.” She scoffs lightheartedly, “It went just as I predicted. After three months we were close to killing each other.” A memory clearly crosses her mind, because a tender smile tugs at the corner of her painted lips.

 

“But we had fun. A lot of fun.”

 

“Should we expect more Solos joining us soon?” 

 

“I think the galaxy has had its share of Skywalkers and Solos for now.”

 

“Well, good to stay busy and nothing works for maintaining your mental capacity like running an undercover Resistance.”

 

Leia smirks at his comment. “Well, you know how it pleases me to see how it annoys my former colleagues. Hard to force a person off a throne where they have no impact or real power.” She hesitates for a moment. “Although the local government here isn’t overly fond of my  _ hobbies… _ ”

 

Poe takes a bite of the loaf and while chewing asks, “Heard anything from Ben?”

 

“Surprisingly, yes. Often. He has exceeded all my expectations considering how tense my own senatorship was.”

 

He nods. “Any new intel regarding Erudo Ro-Kiintor?”

 

“No word yet. I think Ben chose to wait until next week’s reconnaissance and avoid leaking anything through holo. Who knows. He arrives tomorrow, I’ll know then.”

 

Ben Solo. 

 

Poe has only met with him a few times since he decided to agree to become Black Leader for the Resistance. Tall and brooding, he was a man of few words, and of those that had ever been directed at Poe, sarcastic and ill-intentioned. At least that’s what Poe’s impression has been and the son of legends had done nothing to alter Poe’s appraisal of him in the four years they had been acquainted. 

 

Ben Solo being in the Galactic Senate instead of his mother has introduced the Resistance to some interesting dilemmas. His infamous temper and unreliable support have at this point alienated most of Leia’s former allies and he has instead gained the support of a bunch of  _ Centrist First Order-sympathetic politicians. _ It has required immense campaigning from Leia and other Resistance members to keep her friends and the populists in their good graces, an unwelcome and strenuous task which has only been offset slightly by the fact that Ben now had access to requisite intel from the opposition. 

 

But just barely. 

 

Were he not the son of Leia, Poe is not sure if he would be welcome at Resistance meetings at all.

 

Poe even doubts if Ben Solo would have been supportive of their cause-

 

Or if he just hadn’t sided with the First Order already. 

 

However, Poe has no desire to hurt his mentor, so he just nods and mumbles a quiet “Okay.” He brings the cup of wine to his lips - just for a taste, and then continues. “Speaking of vital Centrist information.”

 

Leia looks up from her plate as if to tell him he has her attention. 

 

“So. We went to Anoat and what we thought was just a regular Centrist rendezvous, turned out to be a full-on First Order fundraiser. You wouldn’t believe who was there. Ormos Apolin, and Fatil, weapons manufacturers, old empire generals. I even saw Carise Sardian.” 

 

Leia’s eyes widen slightly, but she does not interrupt.

 

“They talked about some weapon. Something destructive, but I couldn’t infer what it was or how powerful it was. However, it seemed like something they were satisfied with. I had hoped to get more, but we were caught before that.”

 

“Caught? Poe, you should be more careful. You have valuable knowledge that many would pay a lot of credit to receive.”

 

A smirk crosses his face and he points his fork back at her chest. “Supreme Governor, you need to do more than just put cuffs on my wrist to keep me restrained.”

 

His mentor gives him a lecturing look before she returns her attention back to the holo. “While your methods are unorthodox, they are effective - and we are in need of those methods,” she mumbles begrudgingly.  

 

“And that’s why you summoned me today?”

 

She places the holopad in front of him and twirls it so the information is clear and readable from his view.

 

“I received a message from Maz Kanata yesterday.” 

 

Poe’s eyebrows rise and the head of a tiny alien with glasses shifts on the screen.

 

Leia continues, “I must say I was very surprised, considering her reputation for keeping her mouth shut - and yet, I was sent this.” Her fingernail taps against a specific part in the text.

 

“A defected stormtrooper,” Poe repeats as his eyes skim the paragraph.

 

Leia nods. “Indeed. Stuck with Maz, looking for passage to the Outer Rim. I had initially just considered procuring him for general intelligence - but with your new information, he might give us vital clues about the nature of this weapon.”

 

The pilot agrees and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “It won’t be easy. He might just be interested in hiding - at least every other defector I’ve ever heard of attempted this. We need to give him something he can’t… refuse.”

 

“I’ll transfer credits right away - but you might need to be creative.” She says, taking her holopad in hand and tapping the screen. “You think you can have him with you for the next meeting? It sounds like the First Order is up to something significant. His knowledge could be indispensable.”

 

He breaks out in a grin, dimples showing. “Trust the best pilot in the galaxy to have him here before then.”

 

Leia nods. “Splendid. You will have to go right away,” then stands from her chair, her dark blue-grey dress glistening in the evening sun. “I’ll see you to your ship, I need to address the staff and ensure the preparations for Ben are ready anyhow.”

 

Standing from his own chair, making sure it doesn’t scratch the floor, Poe does a teasing dip. “Lead the way.”

  
  
  


*

 

The staff bows when Leia and Poe walk from the palace through the various kitchens, staff rooms and finally the hangar, mildly surprised at her attendance, but nonetheless happy to see their master giving attention to their area of work. Leia knows for a fact how important recognition and nursing talent is if you want the people working for you to hold you in a positive light and to ensure their loyalty.

 

Leia often finds that the ceremony surrounding her person and her position holds more weight and value to the people executing the events and the people attending than it will ever do to her. Receiving Ben with a smaller parade and fanfare has much more to do with Leia feeling the need to publicly recognize the effort her team does than with pleasing her or her son.

 

Ben has always disliked public life anyway, both as a kid and as an adult. Leia would describe him as positively antagonistic.

 

However, lately he has come to a silent agreement with the duties of his position and instead of visibly opposing them he has chosen to suffer in silence - and then complain afterwards. 

 

Leia is not sure which parent he takes after in that regard.

 

Probably more Han than her.

 

She finds herself close to chuckling, thinking of how Ben is literally Han thrown into her shoes. Her son, a prince having learned how to hold a salad fork, but a nerf herder at heart, because he would not hesitate to throw it hard across the room.

 

And that had happened. 

 

More than once.

 

C-3PO even has the scars to prove it, and Ben’s reentry into Birren atmosphere seems to have put the - f _ or lack of better word  _ \- neurotic droid even more on the edge than usual. 

 

It is hard for most to notice, but Leia sees it. While Leia carefully addresses and asks the responsible staff members about their tasks, the golden robot explodes into an endless stream of questions and information. An attempt at keeping control of an uncontrollable situation.  _ He will stay in the blue sky suite, he has requested access to the training facilities, his schedule includes lunches with a few generals and a party with a few local politicians, he has gotten a new secretary - some Dopheld Mitaka (who according to the droid, does not live up to protocol standards for a senatorial secretary, hardly any experience! C-3PO had at least not been impressed by the resume) and… _

 

Leia appreciates the droid’s efficiency but has also learned when to tune him out and when to try and interrupt, which was not always a wise strategy. Poe still tries, as they walk the halls of her home - she pities him, but only slightly - and when BB-8 disappears into the crowd to drown out the incessant chatter from his peer, Leia knows it is enough and prepares to end the tour. 

 

The Force disagrees.

 

Because there it is, a buzz. The Force constantly mutters to her and while she has gotten used to it with the help of Luke, this feels less like a whisper and more of a call to attention. And if there is one thing Leia has learned, is that when the Force insists on guiding you, you listen. Had she not, she would never have heard Luke’s plea on  _ Bespin _ .

 

So she listens to the Force and almost in an ironic fashion, it wants her to look at the girl from Jakku.

 

Leia had almost blissfully forgotten - caught up in her duties and planning - to remember how Han had brought this  _ beautiful _ young girl with him and just… left her. The Supreme Governor of Birren had actually been perfectly happy with having the technical staff swallow her up and for once not let her husband’s problems become her problems - or whatever that girl was to him.

 

However, Leia would be lying if the emergence of this girl had not indirectly caused her to look at bit closer at herself in the mirror, tracing the aging lines on her face, staring at the grey in her hair and the wrinkles on her hand. It has been a long time since Leia has felt jealousy and especially considering that the girl has done nothing but exist, her feelings feel so unmerited.

 

Yet, she still sits in front of the vanity mirror every night, judging herself. So unlike her.

 

It is Leia’s logic though, and knowledge that you do not sell the skin before you kill the  _ Loth-cat _ , that makes her listen to the Force. And the Force tells her to go, so she does. 

 

Leia knows the girl is occupied in her work because when she approaches, the presumably cautious scavenger jumps and accidentally drops a piece of metal to the ground with a deafening clonk. 

 

“Princess Leia,” she gasps.

 

The ‘princess’ smiles, ignores the title, and bends down to pick up the metal. 

 

“No worries. I should have made my presence known.” The workbench is cluttered. The girl has been busy. “It is I who should apologize. I have neglected you since Han’s visit.” Rey stands still, silent, confused, hesitant -  _ shy _ ? “How have you been?”

 

“I...well. It has been...an adjustment” 

 

“I can imagine. Good. Good. I see you have been put to good use?”

 

Rey turns her head quickly to the table, a blush decorating her cheeks, trying to fix her mess on the table. It is slightly endearing. “I yes. I have worked mostly on salvaging and repurposing circuits and repulsors…”

 

Leia hums in reply and her eyes travel across the desk, as the Force inclines her to do, when her eyes fall on something familiar.

 

Something happy.

 

_ Something _ of Ben’s.

 

Her hand, covered in rings of diamonds and sapphires moves on its own, as she takes in the old toy - a miniature Millennium Falcon. How many years has it been since she last saw this? When they moved away from Chandrila?

 

Recollections flood her mind, unspoiled despite time passing, of Ben on their balcony, in the tub, in his bed, playing and clutching this particular toy. How he cried that night when it had disappeared, how happy he had been when C-3PO emerged in the doorway, holding it tight in his golden hand.

 

“Where did you find this?” 

 

Rey goes strangely silent and fiddles with the hem of her shirt. “Ah… in the basement. We were… looking through stuff.”

 

Leia raises an eyebrow but knows when not to pry and instead turns the toy over in her hand, before pressing the button she just knows where to find. The repulsor whirs into action and the tiny Millennium Falcon levitates above her hands. A bright smile, a real one, a surprising one, springs to life as she sees her son’s favorite toy as good as new. She is reminded of good times, of his small hands and beautiful black hair.

 

Rey looks at her cautiously, perhaps surprised by Leia’s genuine reaction.

 

“This belonged to my son.” Leia’s voice is soft.

 

“I… didn’t know you had a son.”

 

_ Tell her, tell her all of it, _ the Force insists, but Leia doesn’t - she tells the story she tells everyone. “Yes. He hasn’t been that much in the public eye until lately. Lived many years with his uncle.”

 

Rey nods as if accepting, hushed.

 

“I think I will give him this as a  _ welcome home _ present tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to see it.” A good mood overtakes her at the thought of Ben seeing this again - it may even put him in a pleasant disposition. Maybe they could talk about Chandrila. Does he remember how it was? Does he remember the woods, the lakes? Does he remember watching holos at night, tucked into bed with her and Han?

 

Her eyes probably twinkle, but  _ then _ she sees the distraught expression on Rey’s face.

 

_ Heartbroken, upset, or conflicted?  _ and Leia realizes - Rey has gotten attached to the toy.

 

Leia turns it off and takes the toy back into her hand. “If you are finished with it?”

 

“Ah- yes. I am. Ah - yes. It is yours.” Rey says, hand gesturing to the toy. The air is thick with uncertainty, grief and reluctance, something that intrigues Leia. 

 

“Thank you - Rey.”

 

Rey says nothing and just as Leia is about to turn, she finds her voice. 

 

“Have you heard from Han?”

 

Leia’s heart jumps, but she does not let it show. “No.”

 

“Oh.”

 

A sigh escapes the daughter of the Organas lips and her hand picks at the wooden desk, diamond rings flashing in the light, as she chooses her words carefully. “Rey. I have known Han for many years. Waiting for Han will not get him back.” 

 

And that does not only apply to him. It applies to Ben, to Luke, to her parents, her past, her innocence - her childhood. Waiting has not brought any of them back - there is only one way to go and that is forward.

 

“I do not know what he promised you, but if you need help getting home, all you must do is ask.”

 

Hurt flashes across the girl’s face, as she refuses to meet Leia’s gaze - yet Leia persists and says things she is not sure she means.

 

“But, should you find that you want to stay, there will be a home for you here. However, it is your choice-”

 

A deep breath.

 

“You will have to decide if what you are waiting for is really where you expect it to be. I have waited for many things and found none of them, but I have stumbled upon many greater things.”

 

Rey then looks at her, hurt, surprised, tense, overwhelmed.

 

The mother in Leia breaks for the girl and before she herself even knows what she is doing, her arms pull the girl into a tight embrace. 

 

Rey stills, reluctant, but when Leia softly brushes against her mind, catching snippets of feelings and thoughts, the girl relaxes, as if the gesture is a tender caress. And there Leia feels it, yearning, loneliness, hurt and last of all - no romantic feelings for her husband, only admiration, mentorship and the desire for belonging. 

 

However, that does not say anything about the nature of companionship - and says nothing about Han’s.

 

Leia finds her sympathy and when she breaks the hug, she confidently tells her, “See you tomorrow at the ceremony.”

  
  


*

 

_ That night Rey dreams again. _

 

_ She dreams of grass, of cascades singing into the night.  _

 

_ She dreams of hands. Hands pulling, hands stroking, hands exploring. _

 

_ She dreams of being buried. She dreams of breaking free. _

 

_ She dreams of brown eyes and full lips. _

 

_ She dreams of  X-wings.  _

 

_ She dreams of Han’s dying scream. _

 

And then Rey doesn’t dream.

  
  


*****

 

Rey tells herself she doesn’t steal a ship in the night because she is tired. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**   
>  [A-fighters](https://www.starwars.com/databank/a-wing-fighter)   
>    
>  [Anoat](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Anoat)   
>    
>  [BB-unit](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/BB-series_astromech_droid)   
>    
>  [Bespin](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Bespin)   
>    
>  [Chandrila](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Chandrila)   
>    
>  [Dopheld Mitaka](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Dopheld_Mitaka)   
>    
>  [Dosmet Raeh](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Dosmit_R%C3%A6hr)   
>    
>  [Erudo Ro-Kiintor](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Erudo_Ro-Kiintor)   
>    
>  [Galactic Concordance](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Galactic_Concordance)   
>    
>  [Galactic Senate](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Galactic_Senate_\(New_Republic\))   
>    
>  [laser brains](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/File:Laserbrain.ogg)   
>    
>  [LEP servant droid](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/LEP_servant_droid)   
>    
>  [Loth-cat](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Loth-cat)   
>    
>  [motivator](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Motivator/Legends)   
>    
>  [New Republic Defense Fleet](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/New_Republic_Defense_Fleet)   
>    
>  [Rebellion](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Alliance_to_Restore_the_Republic)   
>    
>  [Tie-fighters](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/TIE/LN_starfighter)   
>    
>  [Twi’lek](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Twi%27lek)   
>    
>  [X-wing](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/X-wing_starfighter)


	4. Chapter 4: Golden Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, does feeling each other in the force count as a first meeting?  
> Thanks to  
> [Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder?lang=en) for the Alpha Read and [K8](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits) for the Beta Read (and multiple Oxford commas)

**Chapter 4 - Golden hands**

 

< Data log 14303490

>Initiating protocol check...

>Protocol check type: greeting ceremony

>Rank: Royalty and Senator

 

So begins the data log of Leia Organa’s golden protocol droid, C-3PO, for this particular afternoon. It is not an unusual entry as such and is highly consistent with the droid’s programming and previous recordings. There are specific steps that are taken in order to ensure that the program scheduled is followed precisely as ordered and to the appropriate social standards. 

 

The droid does exactly what the droid is supposed to do. Yet, everyone seemed to comment that this piece of machinery was neurotic, intense, and oversensitive. Words the droid knows, but can hardly find any meaning for. It simply follows what its magnetic strips and crystal oscillator are supposed to do.

 

Yet, even with a specific manual to guide it, the droid is  _ more _ attentive to this ceremony than normal, as if it holds a  _ bit more _ gravitas. This may be due to the familiarity of the guest, his relation to the house of its master, his status as a senator, or all of the above. Some may even claim that in its many years of service, C-3PO has developed a positive disposition to some specific aliens and humanoids, that in basic could be called fondness. However, that term means very little to the droid itself.

 

It does what its programming tells it to, so C-3PO recapitulates the list of tasks in his head all over again.

 

checkProcession();

>checking…

>... Kitchen staff: in line

>...  Security: in line

>...  Band: in line

>...  Flower girls: in line

>...  Droids: in line

>...  Master: in line

>...  Technicians: not in line

 

The droid hurries to the technicians that are effectively disbanded and instead of standing in a perfectly straight line adjacent to their colleagues, crowding amongst themselves.

 

“Please place yourself according to your designated positions!” it shrieks as it hurriedly pushes at the people, who laugh in disbelief at the droid. “How rude!” it replies.

 

Being a protocol droid is hard work in a society full of savages and the uncultured. 

 

“Stop fussing,” the voice of its master sternly tells the golden droid and it stills. Its mainframe computing the contradicting information of both needing to ensure protocol, but at the same time receiving an order from its master that overrides that command. 

 

Supposedly.

 

But over 60 years of constant operation can make wires, override commands, and connections… faulty.

 

“But Princess Leia! Protocol must be maintained when we are to receive a Senator of the Republic!”

 

“It’s just Ben.”

 

But it is not just Ben.

 

retrieveDataFile("Ben Organa Solo");

>Age: 29 standard years 

>Species: Human

>Born: Chandrila

>Occupation: Political Representative in the Galactic Senate 

>Parents: Han Solo, Leia Organa

>Likes: Caf, chocolate, and air cake

>Dislikes: Blue milk, porridge, and nerf stew

  
  


The data file for Ben Solo is pretty standard, there is nothing remarkable in the way it is constructed and built. However, the content is what makes a difference to the computational evaluation of the senator’s stay on Birren. 

 

Archival recordings and data logs, stretching for almost 30 years, paint a very telling picture of the young man. At first they tell of a child, a quiet attentive boy, who fusses and sleeps irregularly, something the droid could always soothe with chocolate (C-3PO always has a stockpile ready up in the kitchen).

 

Then the archive chronicles a different narrative; it tells of a young man growing up. It tells of measurements taken to avoid  _ Force thrown _ stuff, of specific moods and attempts at curbing them. It tells of instead of restocking candy, the droid starts to restock replacement furniture and other household items. It lasts for a few years until the log starts to consist of items to put in care packages, of holos that need to be forwarded to Luke on Yavin 4. The log thereafter is almost devoid of entries, besides a few mentions from Leia. Then something changes.

 

A competent slicer would suggest a memory wipe. But if one would only read the golden droid’s archives at face value, one would only see a sudden influx in mentions of Ben Solo. From nearly nothing, to only consisting of logs concerning his well-being, redacted entries, and a general increase in the budget’s depreciation. 

 

Those logs are fairly consistent for most of a year and then Leia Organa steps down as Senator to take over the seat of Birren (after nearly leaving it vacant for six months, much to the droid’s dismay). The description changes from cataloging him as “Prince” to “Senator” and he once more becomes an infrequent occurrence in the log.

 

The archives are not of much value in other droids, but C-3PO’s software uses them  to be expectant where others are not. Thus the statistical evaluation of Ben Solo’s log entries means that the droid takes extra care and more precautions in order to maintain the standards of this type of household and to avoid mishaps.

 

So the droid runs through the schedule once more, checking, confirming, with its master by his side, shushing its observations.

 

Leia Organa, though, has never failed the droid. And as she stands there in a bright purple dress, with her hair done in the socially appropriate braided fashion, something close to pride rises in the droid:

 

checkAppropriateCulturalAppearance("Princess Leia Organa")

>checking... ok!

 

And well within schedule, the staff has lined up, the musicians are ready, and the tiny local humanoid children stand right next to its master, holding bouquets tight in their hands. All is at it should be.

 

However, the droid is always aware and alert for the tiniest mistake, and the first ones happen as soon as the Lambda-Class Shuttle lands. First, it lands a bit too much to the left, so the red carpet is not in line with the ramp when it opens with a hiss. C-3PO is ready to make amends right away, but then the entourage steps out of the shiny chrome interior, and that plan is quickly pushed away in favour of being absolutely appalled by the manner in which they exit.

 

Tradition for such a ceremony dictates that it is the prin-  _ senator _ that is supposed to exit first (and C-3PO had dutifully given notice of this to the new very incompetent secretary of Ben’s), but instead pilots, staff, interns, and secretaries all step ahead, and in no procession! The droid frantically tries to scramble towards the anomaly, but Leia harshly mutters, “Quit it!” and it then abruptly stills. Its programming screams at it to interfere, but its master’s override prevents it from doing so. 

 

And then the final straw.

 

The prince is dressed in black. From head to toe. While obviously cut from fine fabric, it is  _ most _ unorthodox to dress in these shades for a festive occasion such as this, where purples, reds, and blues are preferred (which the secretary had also been informed of!).

 

“Oh my!” C-3PO exclaims. “Is His Highness wearing black!?”

 

Leia shushes it and instead of acknowledging its attempt at breaking her override, she instead walks to greet her son and his  _ absurd _ entourage. The young senator appears, from the droid’s facial scans, impassive and bored. He ignores the waving and applause from the crowd, walks right past the awaiting flower girls (how rude!), and proceeds to bend down to hug his mother. 

 

“Good to see you, Ben,” Princess Leia says, to which the prince replies, “Good to see you too”. And then something happens in the droid’s wiring, perhaps a flicker of faulty electricity, but the override from Leia is deactivated and the droid then frantically scrambles to the mother and son.

 

“Senator Solo! What a pleasure to see you again! We have much to do and if we get moving right away we may manage to keep schedule for the tour -”

 

The young man steadily ignores the golden droid and stands to his full height, motioning for a short dark-haired man to retrieve the flowers (which is even more rude). As the droid continues to narrate the finer details of the day, the son offers his arm to his mother, who graciously accepts it, and then they are off to the palace via the marble stairs.

 

All appears to go well and the droid’s main concerns are curbed by it going through the details of evening over and over again while reprimanding the senator’s staff on their poor processional abilities and how it wishes to rectify them. 

 

Then, the prince halts.

 

Leia looks up at her son, confused, as he quickly spins his head to look at the crowd, eyes searching for  _ something _ .

 

And that’s when the droid just  _ short circuits. _ “Your Highness! Please. We are already delayed!”

 

However, C-3PO’s distress call doesn’t deter the senator. He turns completely, almost transfixed, and moves down the stairs. It is only when his mother firmly tugs him back, that he somehow comes back to reality. 

 

He blinks, and Leia gazes at him, pondering.

 

“My apologies,” the senator then replies and steps back up the stairs. 

 

C-3PO leads the way as the procession enters the palace, motioning for the big durasteel doors to slam shut behind them. Closing off their world. There is an order to things after all.

 

< Evaluation of Ceremony: 404 registered mistakes />

  
  


_ * _

  
  


Rey is not quite sure where she is.

 

All she knows is that the durasteel wall is cold against her back, and the fingers she presses tightly against the metal protest against the sudden drop in temperature. Nerves twisting in complaint.

 

Her brain registers that it is happening, but she feels nothing outside of her frantically beating heart. 

 

It slams against her ribs so hard, that she finds herself temporarily deaf from the thumping alone. Her chest rises rapidly, up and down, gasping for air as if there is none - while she knows there is plenty.

 

It feels so out of place, so involuntarily, so forced upon her, that she is convinced this is what dying feels like.

 

She is panicking. 

 

She is not even sure why she is panicking.

 

So it takes her a few solid minutes for her brain to somewhat calm and to start puzzling the events together in her head, as if she is a detective investigating her own miserable life.

 

The only thing she recalls off the top of her head is that one moment she was attending the welcoming ceremony and the next she was violently running with no goal in mind, but knowing that she had to  _ get away, now, now, now.  _ How many corners she had turned or flights of stairs she had taken, she is not sure.

 

Rey tries her best to figure out what had caused such a reaction, because as far as she knows, the ceremony had been rather straightforward. She had stood with the technical crew as they were pushed into line by a golden protocol droid, and then watched a  _ Lambda-Class Shuttle  _ enter the atmosphere and descend to the landing pad adjacent to the spectacle. It had been an enjoyable experience, a pageant of musicians, flower petals falling from the sky, and children with bouquets in their hands, giddy with excitement. All there to greet the son of Leia Organa and Han Solo. 

 

The ramp had opened (silent, because it was a new, expensive, and well-maintained ship) and the entourage of ostentatious people emerged without much fanfare. Rey guessed them to be secretaries, technicians, and perhaps even friends, when one man - who exited last - caught her attention.

 

It was clear that he was the senator, the way he held himself and the way he dressed, no doubt about it - and Rey…

 

She knew him.

 

Or - she… didn’t?

 

But there was something about him, something familiar. Yet, when looking at him, she found his face to be unremarkable: long, thin, all sharp angles and with a slightly protruding nose, eyes dark and intense. She was convinced that if not for the context, he could have passed as any ordinary man. 

 

And still, Rey knew this man. Rey was convinced she had seen him before! In a  _ daydream _ , in a  _ nightmare _ . 

 

The realization made her breath hitch and her body still. Adrenaline quickly filling her body and preparing her to flee. But, she did not succumb to it, her fear, her panic. No, instead she steeled herself and planned on waiting it out.

 

Which seemed to go well. He passed her with not as much as a glance, reached the stairs and hugged his mother, before leading them inside. Rey exhaled hard in relief.

 

That was until he suddenly turned and looked directly at her.

 

Except he couldn’t have, because Rey knows she was effectively hidden by Gax and Karim. But she knew. She knew he looked at  _ her _ . He was searching ... _ for _ her? 

 

She cowered behind the two tall humanoids and thought herself safe, but when the prince made as if to walk down the stairs, her feet had taken her and run. 

 

It had seemed the right decision, albeit not an easy one. The prickle in her neck had protested violently, yanked at her, pushed her, but her malfunctioning brain had won over her prickle. So, with her stomach unsettled and her body fighting to keep afloat, she had sped through the corridors and stairs until she finally arrived here.

 

A supply closet it seems, stocked with _ utility droids, aerosweepers and cleaning agents.  _

 

Then finally the air decides to rush into her lungs, expanding them, clearing her head. Rey softly closes her eyes, letting the back of her head make a soft ‘thud’ against the wall, as she turns her head upwards.

 

Yet, even with her mind slowly defogging, Rey cannot explain where she has seen this man.

 

And it scares her. More than anything. 

  
  


*

  
  


Leia would be lying if she declared that having dinner with Ben, for the first time in four months, didn’t scare her. 

 

In the six years she had been the Supreme Governor of Birren, eating alone or with only Han or Ben had been a rare occurrence (mostly given their lack of visits), so she had slowly formed a habit of surrounding herself with guests, politicians, and her court during every evening meal. 

 

It proved an efficient way of discussing politics, of having stimulating conversation, and an outstanding way of wrapping up a busy day. This meant that the Orangerie and its long golden table was always full. The glass covered room, filled with exotic alien plants, would reverberate with laughter, animated conversations, and heated discussions every night.

 

However, tonight the Orangerie is eerily quiet. Even the songbirds in the evergreens are mute and the only sound is the scraping of spoons as they carefully sip their soup. It is only herself and Ben and as the silence stretches on, Leia can’t help but wonder if the many dinner guests were really just a way to hide the numbing loneliness that otherwise would be her life?

 

She glances at her son over her spoon, sitting to her right, and ironically he too seems to feel out of place in the grand dining hall, suffocated by plants and finery. 

 

_ Maybe it’s a mistake? _ she wonders,  _ to insist on this meal only being her and Ben _ . Even C-3PO had advised her against it - but for protocol reasons.

 

Yet, her excitement of having her son back had put her in good spirits and as she had prepared his stay, she duteously ensured that all his favorite meals would be served.

 

Cold Arkensian soup, filet of Coslen Dantoinal, Fromirian roast queg, Kodari-rice, spiced Mynock wing and, last but not least, air cake.

 

All ready and prepared, and If Leia should voice her own personal opinion, everything appears perfect, ready for them to have a lovely reunion and a cozy evening. However, as soon as they sit down, silence takes center stage. 

 

She assumes the initial awkwardness is natural. They speak rarely, and he might be tired from the 23 standard hours it takes to get from Hosnian Prime to Birren, in addition to the workload that comes with being a senator. She knows from first hand experience, the memories are crystal clear as if it were yesterday (and not six years ago). 

 

So she lets him be and instead lets her eyes take him in. Clothes dark and fine, practical from a distance, but the carefully trained eye notices the craftsmanship. At the correct angle, the elaborate silver embroidery of his tunic shimmers. Visible if one wants to look, but otherwise hidden. Ben cares not for expensive jewels, elaborate designs or make up - Leia assumes this to be a repercussion from his training with Luke and his trips with Han. If honest, she has a hard time imagining Ben in huge capes, painted lips, or elaborate headgear. It would be a shame to mess with his beautiful black hair anyway. A smile traces her lips as she wonders if his dark curls are still as delicate and smooth as the day he was born. How she had loved to caress it, tucking at its edges whenever she tried to get him to sleep. 

 

While many things about her son are familiar, Leia finds that the older he gets, the more he appears to her as a strange mix of things known and unknown. 

 

There are the things she recognizes: his big adorable ears hidden behind his thick mane, his tender sweet brown eyes, the way he hunches in on himself when he eats, and the not so subtle eye roll he does when someone is a bit too over the top. All the small gestures that have survived in him since infancy.

 

And then there is the unknown. 

 

At first glance, it is his face that strikes her. A soft yet coarse profile, where she sees none of Han or herself  _ distinctly _ in it. He resembles someone else, someone neither she or her husband recalls or remembers. Relatives neither of them have met. Does he look like Padmé, her true mother? Does he look like Han’s father or mother, maybe his grandparents? …Or does he resemble Anakin Skywalker? Her father. 

 

She tries not to think about him too much. 

 

The next thing she doesn’t recognize is the way Ben carries himself. Proud,  _ prideful even _ . How he somehow, regardless of her tutelage, has gotten the impression that some have more merit than others. That bloodlines and legacies are important characteristics of a person.

 

Leia knows how bloodlines can be deceiving. But Ben doesn’t know, because only she, Han, and Luke know - she even doubts if Han has told Chewbacca. 

 

Yes, in many ways her son is a stranger to her, but then she catches his brandy colored eyes, one of his best features, a feature  _ they share _ , and she is instantly comforted. 

 

Leia finds that her son has become a very handsome man, despite his face being a mix of protruding angles and soft curves, of dark hair and alabaster skin. The mother in her is thoroughly convinced that he must have a wide variety of admirers in the bustling metropolis of Hosnian Prime and must be courted by a multitude of humans, humanoids, and aliens alike. Her eyes crinkle at the thought as she dips her spoon into the green liquid.

 

“Why are you smiling?”

 

“Hm?” She looks up to see Ben staring at her with slightly narrowed eyes.  _ Suspicious _ . She widens her smile. “Oh, nothing, just a silly thought.”

 

He scoffs and returns to his soup, slurping it quietly - as required by decorum (at least he caught onto that).

 

Moments pass and when Leia realises that he has no intention of starting a conversation, she expertly asks, “How has this season been in the Senate?

 

“Good.” Another slurp.

 

She tries again.

 

“Any progress with the convergence legislation?”

 

“Stuck on semantics at the moment.”

 

“Typical, probably Ormes Apolin. The most action that senator ever achieved was the Banatha diplomatic mission.” Leia chuckles quietly to herself, as she recalls the attempted diplomacy of her and Senator Casterfo. “How is my dear friend Ransolm?”

 

“Good.”

 

“Did you fix the holoprojector in your office? C-3PO mentioned you had experienced some faulty wiring.”

 

“We will look at when we get back.”

 

“Lady Carise? Still making trouble?”

 

“Not to my recollection.”

 

“How is Greer? She still okay flying shuttles?”

 

“She has not complained.”

 

“And you, enjoying the new apartment we bought?”

 

“It's fine.”

 

“I asked Kor Sella to help pick out some of the furniture, I hope it is all to your liking.”

 

“It is sufficient.” Ben breaks his bread and dips it in the bowl to let it soak up the leftovers from the soup. He feels distracted, contemplative in the Force and Leia resists feeling disappointed by the lack of conversation, of failed collective remembrance. 

 

The servant droid enters to pick up the plates and serves the main course. Ben doesn’t comment on it, despite Leia knowing it is his favorite. 

 

Yet, to Leia’s benefit, one of her greatest virtues has always been persistence, so she keeps trying.

 

“I spoke with Greer last week, she mentioned the Senate discussing interfering with the civil war on Chiss. I didn’t know the populists had turned on the topic of intervention?”

 

“I thought you agreed with the populists.”

 

“Well, while I agree with the autonomy of worlds, I hardly agree that that entails non-interference or non-violence.”

 

Ben finally looks up from his plate, his dark eyes trying to discern what she is trying to get at. “That has already been ...discussed.” He hesitantly replies.

 

Leia waves her fork, excited to finally have a conversation that flows, somewhat. “Well, while I do not agree with the Centrists’ opinions in general, sending provisions will not help end a war that is costing millions of lives as it is.” She cuts her meat with determination, never looking away from her son. “I'm just disappointed that we didn’t learn anything from the last time the issue arose.”

 

Ben’s mouth moves (a gesture that usually indicates he’s thinking carefully about what he is going to say) and then he leans back into his seat. “And what would you have us do? Your kind of interference would be a  _ federal war declaration _ on Chiss. They will surely view it as an act of aggression from the Galactic Senate.”

 

“A necessary one to stop the violence.”

 

“And who decides the winner then? Do we pick who should rule Chiss? I can hardly see how that would be a just interference,” his voice tinged with irritation as if this has been the question he has been asked again and again and again, probably yelling his answers repeatedly from his pod during Senate meetings.

 

“So you would rather have them die?”

 

“Should we become the Empire then? Dictate the whims of the Galaxy?”

 

“I hardly think caring about peace and saving lives is the same as being the Empire?” Leia raises her voice ever so slightly.

 

“But having a centrist government is too close?” And so does his.

 

“No, but having an all-powerful First Senator  _ is _ . I do not believe their priorities have changed much since my time.”

 

“And wasn’t that the thing that has caused all of this? Our inability to act? That we are stuck in bureaucracy and semantics? That was your reason for going to Barantha. To bring justice and progress to the Galaxy  _ because no one could decide anything _ ?”

 

Leia narrows her eyes, putting on her mothering voice. “I’m merely giving you advice. Be careful Ben. There is a thin line between giving power and granting someone power over you.”

 

“So deciding  _ the winner _ in conflict, because you can, isn’t granting someone power over others?”

 

“No, it's not.” She tries to calm her voice, but the tremble reveals her own frustration. “Not if it saves lives!”

 

“Lives are lost anyhow. A quick civil war will reduce the casualties instead of inevitably extending the whole thing for years by providing them with resources.”

 

“That is a grave assumption! A diplomatic ceasefire is more easily done if conflict is minimized by lack of starvation and disease. Did you read the text about the Jedis in the Republic?”

 

His hand clutches the fork in a tense grip as he wheezes. “If you are trying to sway the Senate by proxy, then you should never have left!”

 

“But you are  _ our _ representative!”

 

The sound of cutlery slamming against table throws the room into a deafening silence. 

 

She knows the intensity of her son's anger, but now that he is staring daggers at his mother, Leia realizes that it is not only anger he feels - his frustration, hurt and struggle taste almost bitter in the Force and Leia knows now she has taken a step too far.

 

She used to take things too far with her political colleagues and adversaries, because it was necessary. But that doesn’t apply to family. 

 

And now she realizes that she too likes to assert power over others. It breaks her heart.

 

Leia finds herself embarrassed and suddenly unable to say anything, which allows for a vexatious ambience to fill the room, and they just sit, staring at one another. Time stretches, like when a starship enters hyperspace, and almost in slow motion, like two predators slowly retracting their claws, they resume eating.

 

Somehow the awkwardness and the simmering hotheadedness from them both is a welcome and unwelcome companion.

 

It reminds her of times when Han, Luke, Ben, and herself would sit at the table, discussions running wild, only to be followed by slamming doors and yelling. How wild it had been, but it always ended with them making up. Like a true family.

 

But Han isn’t here, and Luke isn’t here, it is only she and her son, and she can’t help but wonder why hostility has become such an ever-present guest at the table.

 

She finds no answer and just continues cutting her food, but not eating it.

 

In time the anger and frustration that circulates in the air is replaced with regret and repentance. Leia’s cheeks get less flushed and Ben’s ears slowly go from deep red to soft pink. The main course is finished and the empty golden-green plates switched to dessert, air cake. Another one of Ben’s favorites.

 

This time he appears to notice. He blinks and then in a soft, apologetic voice says:

 

“I’m sorry. Things have been… stressful.” 

 

He swallows, once and then twice, before digging the spoon into the soft texture of the cake.

 

“I’m sorry too.” Leia says in a gentle manner, picking at the dessert. 

 

He swallows once more. “You have not left me an easy path to follow.”

 

“I know.” Why are her eyes so itchy? “I’m sorry.” The rings on her knuckles dig into her skull, as she braces her head against her hand. “I know politics is not what comes to you most naturally.”

 

He scoffs sarcastically. “The understatement of the year.”

 

“It was for the best... Or I hope it was.”

 

A pause.

 

“Me too.”

 

Ben raises his gaze from his plate, brown eyes meet brown eyes and she finds the courage to ask a question that scares her.

 

“Are you happy?”

 

He seems taken aback for a moment, surprised. Then his face softens, making him look like the young boy she once knew, and one large hand gently takes hers, stilling the dessert spoon.

 

It is not an answer, but Leia accepts it and drops the spoon in favor of turning her hand to hold his. “ _ I’m _ happy you are home for the break.”

 

They sit like this for a minute or two, allowing them to feel each other in the Force. Just as they’d do when he was a child. It had been their special thing, something they had done ever since he was a babe. He would cry frantically in his father’s arms, but when Leia would take him, touching their heads together, she would always know what to do to soothe his despair. The older he gets though, the more she finds herself failing to do just that.

 

So that’s what they do. When things are too hard to say, too hard to voice, they grasp hands and just let each other in. Leia’s thumb softly trail his knuckles and in a whisper, she says only one thing.

 

“Oh, Ben…”

 

He nods in reply and withdraws his hand. “It’s fine.”

 

“Are you sure we shouldn’t call Luke and let him try and help you with your nightmares?”

 

“No. That’s what got us into this mess to begin with.”

 

Leia wishes she didn’t know when not to pry and she knows that Ben leaving Luke’s academy has left a deep and wide fissure between master and apprentice, between uncle and nephew - so intense that both have refused contact. Leia wishes she didn’t know when not to pry, because all she wants to do is help. 

 

It seems as if the older she gets, the more her family forgets the ties that bind them and the good memories they share.

 

Which reminds her.

 

“I got something for you.” She bursts, a sudden rush of excitement overtaking her and motions for the server droid to bring forward the tiny Millennium Falcon, which it carefully hands to Ben, who sits in confusion.

 

He takes the toy in hand and turns it, as if to inspect it, puzzled. “What is this?”

 

“It's your old toy. You used to play with it when you were a child, remember? One of the technicians found it in the storage and restored it. It should be almost as good as new.”

 

“And… what am I supposed do with it?”

 

“Oh, It just reminded me of our good times on Chandrila. I thought you might remember it too.”

 

“Thank you?” He keeps turning it, as if struggling to recognize it and slowly nods, before giving it back to the droid, then taking his spoon in hand and digging into the dessert once more.

 

Leia gapes, surprised that the bait didn’t work and feels her heart break just a little at the edges. She supposes she shouldn’t have expected him to remember it, and then it occurs to her, that the toy could easily have backfired. Ripping open old wounds and memories of Han and Luke, a door she knows her son is not ready to open.

 

So she shuts her mouth, deciding that faith has tested their relationship enough tonight.

 

When dinner is over, Ben extends his hand and offers to take her for a walk in the palace gardens. She doesn’t hesitate to take his hand.

 

“I’ll be delighted.”

  
  
  


*

  
  


Downstairs in the hangar, the starships had been moved aside and tables (actually literally any usable horizontal surface) have been cleared and rearranged in a makeshift banquet table, filling the entire south end of the ruby colored space.

 

The usually deserted building is now alive with people, staff from Leia’s palace easily mixing with that of the senator’s, as if they are long lost friends. The tables are modestly decorated and the kitchen staff has brought stew, bread, a variety of salads, and whatever cake is leftover from the week’s previous upstairs banquets. 

 

It is far from a sophisticated meal, with people still dressed in work clothes with grease stains on their cheeks, but that hardly matters when one of the senator’s technicians brings forth bottle after bottle of wine, beer, and brandy and slams it on the table.

 

Rey is… not as overwhelmed as she had feared. 

 

She is not entirely sure why she feels content, sitting here amongst so many people. Maybe her earlier panic attack has used up her daily quota of adrenaline, maybe it is the prospect of food, or maybe it is the small sips from a sour smelling drink that brings about this buzzing feeling in her body. 

 

It seems at least to transform the party from a group of acquaintances to long lost childhood friends. The different staffs mingle with ease and as soon as the food is consumed and the cups repeatedly emptied, the conversations flow comfortably. 

 

Even Rey joins in, talking about flying, about droids, about racing. She finds herself transfixed with a woman named Greer’s stories from when she was a racer with Han, a pilot for Leia and now her son. Her stories from Hosnian Prime are a mix of drama and action,  not to mention all the things that happen when they are off-world or on other planets, and they make Rey realise that she has seen nothing the Galaxy has to offer, nothing - so she absorbs every word, every tale. Asking question after question but the kind-faced Greer doesn’t seem to mind.

 

She even accepts Gax’s offer to dance, which she does poorly, but he too seems not to mind and just laughs at every wrong step and every injured foot. Rey eventually joins in and grins as he twirls and dips her. 

 

They fill her cup and she tries her best to decline, and while they are not offended by her rejection, they do make an honest attempt at changing her mind.

 

 _So this is what a party is supposed to feel like,_ Rey muses. Finding herself giddy about the idea of going back to Jakku, having experienced _this_. Her belly is full, her taste buds pleased, meaning she is in a very amiable, pleasant mood, joyous even. 

 

_ Maybe this is what happiness feels like? _

 

She grins at a joke and sips from the cup, when the alcohol has loosened the senator’s staff’s tongues enough for them to admit: “Force, it’s nice to have someone else manage the senator!” Brixen, A blue Arconian suddenly bursts. “I swear to the Jedi, the amount of damage control we have to do really should warrant a raise!”

 

Gax chuckles in reply, “Well, whenever he is here offseason we hire in extra technicians, just for the amount of stuff that ‘suddenly’ breaks.”

 

A blond humanoid, Korra, snorts and joins the chorus. “I tried to hire in extra technicians on Hosnian Prime, but we did not get a single applicant! His reputation precedes him for sure.”

 

“You know how he always needs caf before he goes to the Senate, so one would assume not breaking the caf maker would be important? Yeah, no! I go into the kitchen to do some alterations to the cleaning droid, and then he smashes it! Like, completely ruins it - because it didn’t brew fast enough. And then he spends the rest of the day yelling at poor Mitaka because it didn’t work!” a kitchen staffer complains, grimacing.

 

Mitaka stays quiet in the corner, poking at his food, presumably knowing better than to out his boss. 

 

Brixen, in a dramatic gesture, raises his glass. “To Mitaka! The only secretary to survive more than 5 months with this man. May we remember Rosa, who did her best and who probably lives in hiding after she quit by setting his apartment on fire.”

 

“To Rosa!” the crowd interrupts, clinking their glasses against each other. 

 

Savage laughter erupts from the crowd, and Rey is perplexed by their shared disdain for their boss. She can’t help but compare the stories to the vileness of Unkar Plutt. Who too would throw things, be unreasonable and disdainful to his employees. A person Rey so desires to hit with her staff, but can’t - because he is the hand that feeds her. A man who enjoys asserting his power over others for entertainment. If Ben Solo is such a man, then Rey finds herself immediately disliking him, despite the admiration she has for his parents. 

 

She is lost in that thought when a humanoid from the senatorial staff’s shout breaks the merriment. “Oh. Don’t remind me. I almost got fired on the way here because I couldn’t fix a holo  _ he decided to  _ **_throw_ ** _ against the wall! _ ”

 

Korra snorts, coughing on her spirits, “If it really was that important, then he should maybe  _ not _ throw it to begin with!”

 

Kessel from Rey’s team, a beautiful Kaminoan, then changes everything. “Why don’t you give Rey a go at it?” to which the rest of the team loudly and noisily agrees.

 

“Yeah! She can fix anything.”

 

“She fixed an almost burnt-out motivator the other day. I was sure we would need to scrap it.”

 

“She also did a remarkable job on the repulsor on Mirrorbright!”

 

Rey is not the type to be embarrassed easily, but she feels it keenly. The heat rising in her cheeks with each item of praise the technicians send her way, and by the time their gazes finally settle on her, her face must look like she fell asleep in the dunes of the Goazon Badlands.

 

“What you say, Rey, do you think you could fix it?” Kessel asks.

 

She blinks, once, twice, and almost weakly nods.

 

“Yes. Yes, I am sure.”

 

“Great!” The humanoid shouts, trying his best to free his legs from the table, while shaking a bottle of Blossom Wine. “I’ll get it for you before I get any more of this.” 

 

The crowd laughs as he falls backward and in a heroic move manages to save the bottle. He runs to the shining starship and after what seems like several minutes finally returns with the pieces of a broken holoprojector. He places them in Rey’s hand.

 

Then several odd things happen.

 

The first thing Rey is reminded of is the packed bag in her room, and that she is prepared and ready to leave as soon as possible. The next thing is how she is perplexed by how the holo seems to  _ tingle _ in her hands, as if a wire is loose in the interior, tickling her palm. Yet, the holo is cold and dead, obviously far from working. 

 

She turns the pieces in her hand, it looks pretty damaged and Rey is not entirely convinced that she will be able to fix it. The mainframe is split in half, the modulator is torn to shreds, she will surely need to restore the catalyst. But,  _ something _ tells her it is salvageable, and whatever it is, it important that she does - it seemed important to the senator at least, if he threatened to fire a technician over it. 

 

And just like that, Rey knows exactly what will happen.

 

She will fix the holo as a gesture of goodwill and gratitude to Leia and Han! And  _ then _ she will go back to Jakku, being much richer in life and richer in spirit…

 

... _ Because now Rey knows what other worlds are like. _

  
  


*

 

_ That night Rey dreams. She dreams of many different things. _

 

_ First, she dreams of a small black haired child in a sky blue room. _

_ She dreams it's night.  _

_ She dreams the curtains sway. _

_ She dreams that the air is sweet. _

 

_ Next, she dreams of stars.  _

_ She dreams the stars turn into red plasma beams, shooting at her, but never penetrating. She dreams of a man, scarred, with a wicked grin on his face, watching her, waiting for her.  _

 

_ She dreams of Jakku. _

_ She dreams of entering a Star Destroyer, climbing its walls, her hands burning on the rope. She dreams of a child, blond, eyes piercing like the evening stars. His body morphs, turning into two burning stars.  _

_ She dreams that the child tells her, “You are not supposed to know.” _

 

_ She dreams she stands with a lightsaber in hand, snow flickering before her. The blue beam reflecting red in the snow - like a massacre, like blood, like death.  _

_ She dreams of a man in a mask.  _

_ She dreams he wants to teach her. _

 

_ She dreams she enters a cave, of touching a mirror tenderly with her fingers, and when her hand reaches the blue frosty pane of the glass, a warm palm touches hers. The face of the prince defogs and his expression is serious and his mouth is set in a grim line. Yet a voice still echoes. _

 

“I’ll come back for you sweetheart.”

  
  


*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**   
>  [Arconian](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Arcona)   
>  [Blossom Wine](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Blossom_wine)   
>  [Chiss](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Chiss)   
>  [Goazon Badlands](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Goazon_Badlands)   
>  [Greer Sonnel](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Greer_Sonnel)   
>  [Kaminoan](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kaminoan)   
>  [Lambda-Class Shuttle](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Lambda-class_T-4a_shuttle/Legends)   
>  [Lady Carise](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Carise_Sindian)   
>  [Mirrorbright](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mirrorbright)   
>  [Ormes Apolin](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ormes_Apolin)   
>  [Populists](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Populists)   
>  [utility droids](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Utility_droid)   
> 


	5. Chapter 5: Labels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its not a meet cute, its a meet-and-shit-hits-the-fan. Thank you  
> [Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder?lang=en) for the Alpha Read and [K8](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits) for the Beta Read (and multiple Oxford commas)

**Chapter 5 - Labels**

 

FN-2187. 

 

That is his name. 

 

His number.

 

His designation. 

 

His purpose.

 

Sometimes it is shortened to 87, sometimes he goes by FN, but all in all, it is a name that reflects practicality, a place in a system, a number in a pile. It is not a name that carries any tenderness or love - it is a name that shows he is expendable in all matters.

 

He is sure he must have had a name though, a name given by a family before he was taken. Although he remembers very little, if anything at all, of how they looked, sounded, what they felt like to touch, or if they are even alive, he knows for sure that they had given him a name.

 

A name that gave him purpose, a place, a name he could call his own. Yet, despite his many attempts at recalling it, it never comes back to him.

 

The only name he has is, therefore, his designation in the First Order (they would give each other nicknames, but none they would ever voice out loud).

 

FN-2187 is the name he responds to, replies to, tells people -

 

Until little over 12 hours ago, when a dazzling roguish pilot had flown across the universe to convince him not to charter his way to the Outer Rim - at least not yet - and in that process, the pilot gave him a name.

 

_ "FN, huh? Finn. I'm gonna call you Finn! That all right?" _

 

Yeah, that was quite alright.

 

And here he sits, in the cockpit of an old freighter, watching hyperspace pass them by in a glorious display of blues, a thing he has seen a million times, yet today it feels different. Different how? Well, for the first time in his short existence in the universe, FN - 21… Finn knew what it was like to be just… himself. WIthout ties, without legacies, without systems. Just a man with a name, a man of his own merit.

 

Finn’s chest rises in pride, a smile permanently on his lips, a tingling sensation expanding his lungs in a happy exhale. A name, that had been all it took for him to abandon any plans of escape and hiding, and before he knew it he was being ferried off by the grinning, rough-looking pilot.

 

However, endorphins tend to only last for a certain amount of time, and after a few hours of gazing longingly at bended spacetime, a knot begins to form in the pit of his stomach. And Finn starts to question all of it. 

 

Why did he go along with it? Was it Poe’s decision to name him that had swept him off his feet?  Or how he awed him with tales of grandeur and purpose - and revenge?

 

Revenge against the people that wronged him. Took his name from him. Took his friends from him. 

 

Revenge sounds good. Sounds wonderful actually, especially when the memory of his friend keeps returning. Of him dragging his bloodied hand across Finn’s visor, coating it in red, branding him, marking him for what he truly is. A murderer.

 

Finn would very much like to teach his tormentors a lesson, just as much as he wants to flee, and it is perhaps the opportunity to contribute to the downfall of the First Order that made him agree to go with Poe to the Resistance.

 

The prospect had made him ecstatic. 

 

Which now, in retrospect, is immediately numbed by a cold shower of a thought. 

 

How can he be sure that Poe is working for the Resistance?

 

Wouldn’t giving intel to the Resistance expose him to the First Order, who is surely looking for him?

 

Would he even be allowed to leave afterwards?

 

Would he go from being free to being an expendable Resistance member? Another number in some other game?

 

Finn groans silently to himself and lets his eyes slide closed, rubbing his palms against them, hoping to catch up on some sleep before they arrive at their destination. All good intentions, but it turns out to be yet another futile attempt at curbing the knot in his stomach, the knot that tells him it is a mistake.

 

So he tries to rationalise it. Maybe all his doubts are the adrenaline talking, the fear talking. Yet, the more he tries to explain his own actions to himself, the deeper the roots of the fear dig into his mind. And what had for sure looked like the opportunity to finally get some shut-eye is instead replaced by 36 hours of fretting and doubting.

 

All for a pair of pretty eyes.

  
  


*

  
  


_ Can grass really appear greener than the day before _ ? Rey ponders, while trailing her hand across the cut edges, gently tracing the young stems and the yellow white daffodils that cover the fields for miles and miles.

 

So green, so lush. 

 

_ It couldn’t be possible _ , she argues to herself. Maybe the deeper saturation can be chalked up to this day just being a little better than any other day.  _ Yes, that must be it _ , she agrees and lets herself fall back against the hill, taking in the sunny sky and relishing the cool breeze.

 

Three days had passed since the party in the hangar, and those three days had been her most peaceful… possibly ever.

 

She doesn’t give it a lot of thought, but when she does, she feels as if something changed in her demeanor the moment she had come to a silent agreement with this planet. As if deciding that fixing the holo would grant her permission to leave, but also granted her permission to savor her remaining days there.

 

As if fixing the holo somehow lifted the guilt she perpetually carried off her shoulders and now allowed her to feel the coldness as a fond blanket, to let the fragrances be a tender caress, and to accept the persistent talking as a mother’s caring voice.

 

It was okay to enjoy this place, because now she was on her way back.

 

And with that permission, Rey had found herself most taken with Lake Breha on the south side of the palace. 

 

It endlessly fascinated her, with one end being steep rocky cliffs and grassy hills that slowly faded into lush flower fields, trees, and lastly a small beach with dark sand. The palace rests on the north end with terraces gracefully extending from the cliffs, almost unnaturally suspended. It was so beautiful, next to the snow covered mountain peaks and the white spires of the palace. A marvelous, one of a kind place. 

 

She had come to visit it during all hours and was immensely taken with the lake and palace at night, where the pink moon had shone so brightly and bathed everything in soft hues of red and purple. 

 

Rey felt grateful.

 

Grateful that she had gotten to experience this. Grateful that she now knows other worlds. Grateful that she could lie in her cot on the hot nights on Jakku and remember back. She would tell the other scavengers, explain in great detail how wonderful it had been, tell the children, let them imagine the worlds beyond Jakku. Yes. She would. 

 

So Rey spends her remaining days soaking in the place and today is no exception. She lies there, on the steep hills, trying to repair the holo. It had been a more challenging task than first assumed, but now she had made some progress, and it was only a matter of time before she would finally be set free.

 

Rey smiles at the thought and finds herself enjoying the company of Kessel, who had decided follow Rey to the lake and eat her lunch with her today - and the tiny scavenger didn’t even mind?

 

“Do you want this?” the elegant Kaminoan says, handing Rey a half-cut sandwich.

 

Rey looks at it briefly and argues to herself, ‘when has Rey ever declined food’, so she nods, rolls onto her stomach, and takes it into her hands and bites into the soft textured bread.

 

Bread. What an amazing thing.

 

Kessel sighs and closes her eyes, relaxing in the sun. 

 

They hadn’t been that chatty, so it surprised Rey slightly when the alien’s soft voice broke the silence. “On Kamino the sun hardly ever shines, it always rains. The first many years I spent abroad, I couldn’t sleep if I couldn’t hear the rain slamming against my window. What a funny thing.”

 

Rey continues to eat, but studies the beautiful, white-skinned Kessel intently before swallowing. “I know the feeling.” Her voice small, struggling to mask her own trauma.

 

“Yeah. The universe is such a strange thing.” 

 

“Sure is.”

 

“I don’t envy the people that get to travel it through and through. Imagine never having a home? Or a place to go home to?” The black orbs open and turn to the palace terraces, where Princess Leia is having lunch with her son under the fruit vines hanging from the pergola, shading them from the worst of the sun. 

 

“I can’t imagine what her life must be like, having your whole world destroyed in front of your eyes, knowing you can never go home.”

 

Rey twists her torso, so she too can take in the scene before her. “Me neither,” she replies. Another bite. “At least she has her family, that must make it easier,” Rey contemplates. 

 

“What about your family?” Kessel asks, hesitating.

 

“They’ll be back.”

 

“Where’d they go?”

 

Rey stills, fingers picking the sandwich apart, before whispering,“I don’t know.”

 

Kessel stares at her, Rey feels her eyes dig into her auburn hair and then to Rey’s surprise, she just nods and lies down in the grass. Her white skin is in deep contrast to the saturated greens. “My family passed away a few years ago. I was told through holo.” The Kaminoan pauses. “Ever since then, I have thought about going back, but what’s the point? There’s no one there.” The pain is obvious.

 

Rey is baffled by the woman’s honesty and openness and also slightly unnerved and unsure if she too should open her heart and pour out her secrets in solidarity. But before she can make up her mind, the alien’s black orbs turn to her. “Promise you won’t tell this to anyone, but Leia doesn’t have the best of families.” 

 

Rey blinks, hardly being capable of imagining that statement to hold any truth. “What do you mean?”

 

The Kaminoan extends her long fingers and points to the terrace. “Her son, Ben, as far as I’ve heard, was in quite a lot of trouble as a kid and he lived many years with Leia’s brother - Luke Skywalker. And then suddenly 6 years ago, just when she relocated here, something happened between them and he joined her here. I remember it quite well. It was chaos.” Kessel contemplates her words. “The prince and the Supreme Governor fought all the time. Han joined too - and now Han and Ben avoid each other, never spending shared days here. Most of the time Leia is here, all by herself.” A pause. “Or at least that’s what we think. We never receive their ships at the same time anyway - and who knows how long it has been since we received Luke Skywalker.”

 

Rey frowns, finishing her sandwich, taking in the scene before her. Leia and her son seem to be having some sort of conversation. It looks civil, not antagonistic from this distance, and he did hug her at the ceremony. “It can’t be that bad.”

 

“Oh, not any longer. Things have improved in the last year, but honestly, I feel so sorry for her. The senator may be great politically, but hasn’t been that kind to her. I guess her including him in the Resistance has mended that a bit.”

 

“He’s with the Resistance?”

 

“As far as I know, or at least the gossip from the holo switchboard suggests so. However, they are very tight-lipped about all of this, so I don’t know much.” Kessel bends down to her water container and twists the lid. “We aren’t that involved with the operations unless we want to be.” One, two, three sips of water. 

 

“Some of you are active there?”

 

“Yeah, Gax is. But Leia doesn’t force it on any of us. We need to want it.”

 

“Gax?!”

 

“Yeah, Gax. He doesn’t do much though, but he hopes he can get to fly with Poe one day.” 

 

“What about you?”

 

Kessel smiles. “My people have seen enough involvement in conflict since the Clone Wars, so I’d rather not.”

 

Rey nods, turning her attention back to the scene before her, to Leia and her son,  _ Ben _ . The pull she felt the other day is still there, but now only a small nudge at this distance, which makes it easier to just sit and watch. The table is decorated with fancy china, extravagant flowers, and expensive food. Leia is dressed in a rich burgundy dress and the prince is still dressed in mourning black. From her spot on the cliff, it appears like a comfortable life of easy mornings and lazy afternoons. But Rey can’t help but wonder what kind of life they truly can have, when their lives are so wrapped up in politics and galactic fates. 

 

It seems both exciting and exhausting.

 

“So is Gax a spy?”

 

Kessel shrugs. “I guess that would be the definition.”

 

A spy. 

 

Just like the old stories from the Rebellion, of bold rebels getting valuable information. Of Jyn Erso and the Death Star plans. Of Rogue One and their daring mission to Scarif. Stories that Rey would keep bothering Trelo to retell on dark moonless nights on Jakku.

 

Then something occurs to Rey and she closely studies the little box containing the holo and suddenly it all makes sense.

 

“Kessel, do you think that the senator ruined the holo because of some bad news for the Resistance?”

 

The alien turns to her, puzzled, and then looks at the box, shrugging. “Who knows, that senator is irrational even during his best moments. It's possible. Would be a bit stupid though, if it was vital information, but wouldn’t surprise me.”

 

It wouldn’t surprise her.

 

The holo almost pulses to her,  _ because of course _ something important had been on it, something crucial. What else could explain how irrationally angry the senator had been, and so close he was to firing his staff? Rey knows that kind of anger, the kind that sneaks up on you and suddenly combusts. Making you see red, making you do things you had never thought you’d do. And yet it happens.

 

Rey knows it very well.

 

And she knows exactly what will happen now, everything is coming together so nicely in her head.

 

She will fix the holo, give them the vital information, and save the day. 

 

How grateful would Leia be! Rey sees it so clearly, handing over the projector to the ecstatic princess. Then Leia will hug her and maybe as a gesture of appreciation will take Rey to sit on her couch, showing her stuff from the war - old holos and artifacts. She imagines spending an evening in Leia’s company, being told story after story that she too can retell to the children of Jakku. And then Rey will board a starship and Leia will wave at her from a distance - like a mother wishing her child good luck.

 

Yes.

 

Rey gathers her things quickly, grinning from ear to ear.

 

“I’m sorry! I’ve got to go finish some things. Thank you for your sandwich,” she half shouts as she jogs down the field.

 

Kessel looks at her amused and just nods, finding that for the first time the young woman appears more at ease with the world.

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


“Have you seen Ben?” Leia offhandedly asks the butler droid placed near the entrance to her office. Her hands are rummaging through her holo archives on the far wall of the room. 

 

“No Ma’am,” it curtly replies, never moving an arm or leg as it stands stiff as a board, guarding the entrance.

 

“Hmm, thought so,” she mutters to herself and sighs. She can’t locate the specific entry on the New Republic Monitoring Act. It seems to be just one in a series of frustrating events that makes her wonder if the budget allows for a new archival droid, since this one clearly isn’t doing a sufficient job - and where is that droid anyhow?

 

“I’ll be going to the library,” Leia informs the butler droid and it swiftly opens the hydraulic door for her to exit into the grand hall. The golden decor shimmers like the red seas of Mustafar in the afternoon sun as she makes her way to the west wing, where her private library is located. 

 

Only a little over a standard hour until the cabinet arrives for her weekly governmental update and she can’t even update herself on this week’s agenda, because of that stupid misplaced holo. A slow-building headache around her right temple is starting to make its presence known and she rubs it insistently on the way to the library. Perhaps it would be wise to see a medi-droid for some painkillers before she sits down for hours of talk on some presumably dull topic. Interesting political drama is almost non-existent in this peaceful corner of the galaxy and Leia feels a restlessness settle in her bones. 

 

A restlessness that has not been eased by Ben’s arrival to their home, despite her hopes that it would. 

 

What she had hoped to be pleasant evenings spent in each other’s company and active mornings with walks and talks have instead been overrun by political and institutional duties for them both. 

 

Her schedule had at least been filled with meetings from political opponents and the time they did spend together was centered on the latest First Order intel and his struggles in acquiring new information. It seems like the Centrists have yet to include him in their inner circles and rightfully so, considering his ties to his mother. Yet, he tries. Her sweet son truly does. While she finds it frustrating that he has not succeeded, especially considering Poe’s information from Anoat, she appreciates the effort and is confident that in time Ben too will succeed in his endeavors. What he has had to offer had been immensely helpful, so she knows he will crack the code. 

 

She knows he will, especially considering the extensive amount of time he has taken to court the royal families on Birren with political ties to the Centrists. The Cassidians, the Barrows, the Alchahams and Dunnages. Dreadful people if you asked her, full of stuck-up, pretentious men and women who decided the value of people based on beauty, wealth, and the extravagance of their castles and bloodlines. 

 

Because if they do not uphold the traditions and institutions surrounding the Elder Houses, then they too will erode into oblivion. They had to make themselves important.

 

Leia hated it. Because Leia knew all about how deceiving a bloodline could be.

 

Ben, however, did not, and she had not told him anything that would give him reason to doubt his own superiority.

 

Having been indoctrinated into these mentalities, he had been the perfect candidate for infiltrating the Elder Houses and had been more than up for the task. He spent almost every waking moment since his arrival (when he was not in his office or training) having luncheons and dinners with these (unfortunately distantly related) families. 

 

Leia had hardly seen her son and thus had enjoyed having lunch with him today, the first time she had properly seen him in three days. Since their moderately disastrous dinner.

 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow they would eat breakfast together.

 

Determined, she enters the library, and is then mildly surprised to see her son lazily lounging on the couch, nonchalantly skimming an article on his holopad. He turns his head backwards, eyebrows slightly raised. “Mom?”

 

“Hello, Ben.”

 

“Anything I can help you with?”

 

“Oh, no. I’m just looking for the archival droid, I think he misplaced something of mine.”

 

Ben nods, returning to his tablet. “I think I saw it in the antechamber”

 

Leia calls out for it and in a few seconds it whirrs in, almost tripping over an ancient vase that she barely manages to catch. She hears Ben’s cough from the couch, probably a half-disguised snicker. Carefully she places the vase back on its pedestal and gives the droid its orders, only for it to once again whirr off and in the process destroy another vase, barely making it without crashing into the door frame as it exits.

 

“You should have someone look it over,” Ben says from the couch, head supported by his arm on the backrest, his left leg swinging back and forth. His dark clothes are in contrast to the evergreen couch with golden embroidery. Leia thinks he looks nice today.

 

“I think I’ll just buy a new one.” She decides to sit in the chair opposite him. “Not much to salvage from this one.” She turns her wedding band gently on her hand, crossing her ankles as she waits for the droid to return.

 

They fall into a somewhat companionable silence and as they do she can’t help but let her thoughts return to the girl Han had brought with him on his last visit. The scavenger. The salvager. Rey. 

 

A sigh leaves her lips, and while Leia has somewhat resolved her feelings regarding the girl, she still feels a twinge of regret about the whole ordeal, wondering if Rey is still in the hangar or if she has already fled. She had not seen or heard from the girl in many days. Probably for the best.

 

She turns to look at her son, his long limbs claiming the entirety of the couch, wondering if she should tell him, because he deserves to know of his father’s going ons. On the other hand, the girl had wanted no trouble, and if she told Ben he would surely cause her trouble. Things are tense enough as it is and Leia does not want to be the culprit that further alienates father and son by giving into her own jealousy. So she keeps her mouth shut.

 

“I’m going to the Barrows’ tonight,” Ben tells her. “They are having a party on their estate here in the palace city.”

 

“Oh. I thought you’d stay in tonight?”

 

“So did I. But Blair insisted.”

 

“He did, did he?”

 

“Would be rude to refuse.” 

 

Leia nods. “It would.”

 

Ben places his holopad back into his lap and turns to consider his mother, a smile on his lips. “I won’t be out long.”

 

Leia scoffs. “You are an adult, you can come home whenever you like.”

 

“Well. I thought you wanted us to have breakfast together?” His smile is still there, close-lipped, but there.

 

Surprised, yet happy to see his gloomy demeanor having lightened somewhat, she returns it. “Yes. Yes, I would very much like to.”

 

“Well, then that’s settled,” he says, returning to his article, skimming it easily with a flick of his fingers, just as the droid comes smashing back in with at least three wrong holos, but amazingly the right one is among them.

 

There is work to do after all. 

 

*

 

It’s late, Rey knows as much, despite not having a chrono on display in her small room. She knows it because her body aches from hours of crouching down on the floor, welding, rewiring, and drilling. It might even be so late that she even flat out missed dinner - something she has  _ never _ done. The excitement of finally finishing the holo and presenting it to Leia had been so intense, and when she had gotten back from lunch it was as if things just clicked, so here she is. 

 

Her packed bag is ready, sitting quietly in the corner, and her fingers ache, but she is almost there, she knows it. And almost as if on cue, the holo lights up. “Yes!” And then a flash of light and sparks fly from the display. It dies on her… again.

 

Rey shouts a groan, tempted to say,  _ go to R’iia _ and throw the damned thing against the wall herself. 

 

Her temper has never been her greatest virtue.

 

So, she straightens her back, closes her eyes hard and drops the holo into her lap. Counting to ten - ten times, before drawing in a deep breath, flexing her fingers and then with (somewhat) subdued anger she tries again. 

 

Her fingers are slightly stiff as she cuts open the wire connecting the motivator to the mainframe, where the sparks had come from. he knows she really should sleep, but she is  _ so _ close. She can feel it.

 

So she takes out the copper, curls its edges together, and then once more tries to turn it on.

 

The holo flashes blue.

 

“YES!” she exclaims, euphoric, mouth drawn into a wide grin. “Oh my Force! It worked! it really worked!”

 

The holo screen loads, slowly, glitching and flickering, but the letters are there, reading in the software, checking for errors in the system. Rey sits for what must be fifteen minutes in total silence, giddy, waiting for the screen to get to the menu. 

 

And then it flickers once more and an error message is displayed.

 

_ Error 1353 _

  
  


_ Do you wish to _

  
  


_Continue_ _Reset to default_

  
  


From her knowledge of working with machines, Rey knows that best option and healthiest thing for the holo would be to reset it, to give it a chance to restore its components, to let it fix what is wrong. But that is not the reason why she fixed the holo to begin with. The reason why she took it on and has been sitting here deep into the night to ensure it would work before morning is because whatever is on there is important. Vital. 

 

So without hesitation, she chooses the former option, knowing full well the risk of erasing all information and corrupting the hardware and software. It might already be gone, but she won’t know if she doesn’t try to see it with her own eyes.

 

So she presses  _ Continue.  _

 

The screen shuts off and then turns on a few times before the main menu appears, slightly distorted, with letters misplaced or misread, but she can navigate her way through it easily. She finds the holo archive and scrolls her way through the data, most of it being too mangled for her to see - but there it is: the latest holo, in almost mint condition. Her fingers press the button before she even has time to doubt her decision to watch something that is possibly highly classified.

 

The sound scratches, a young man appears, in a black outfit and slicked back red hair. She can’t hear his voice at first, so that’s why she misses it - but then she sees it.

 

A First Order insignia. 

 

The voice slowly gets less muffled, the picture blurs for a second and then it is there, clear as day.

 

_ “-ow can you be so tactless! It is not my job to reprimand you  
_ _ for not taking your role in this organization seriously.” _

 

_ What _ ? Rey blinks and leans in a bit closer to the blue holograph.

 

_ “We give you secrets to make you credible, you are supposed to provide us with bigger secrets, not an equal exchange! Or the other way around.” _

 

She smiles, obviously, the First Order is not happy with what the other person is doing. A feeling of smug satisfaction overcomes her, knowing the Order is struggling. 

 

_ “And not to mention, what is the point of giving you an alternative name when you almost got caught on Anoat!  
_ _ Be careful who you are around and who you show your face to - Poe Dameron was there after all!” _

 

Her smugness is quickly replaced by a feeling of ice-cold dread, that this could mean that the Resistance has a mole. How lucky for them to know this! Rey’s conviction that this was the right choice becomes stronger and stronger with every clear sentence from the holo. 

 

This really is important! Very important!

 

_ “Luckily you managed to get out in time, but with how reckless your behavior has been,  
_ _ we seriously need to consider if it is time for you to stop what you are doing and get on with the third part of the plan.” _

 

The plan? There is a plan! This is fantastic! Important! The senator really had something so valuable here.

 

Leia will be pleased. So pleased.

 

This is even better than Rey imagined!

 

_ “What was the point of even giving you that name -  _ **_Kylo Ren_ ** _ -  
_ _ if you keep going around telling everyone that you are the  _ **_‘Ben Solo’?“_ **

 

Wait. 

 

What.

 

The air is sucked out of the room and Rey just… sits.

 

What?

 

What!?

 

No. 

 

No. No. No. No. No.

 

She takes the holo, rewinds and replays the conversations, but the message doesn’t change, despite rewatching it five times.

 

It doesn’t change. 

 

He specifically mentions Leia Organa’s son, by name, as if he is talking directly to him. Something seems off about it. It is definitely not a recording, it is a message, a direct message to the senator.

 

A kriffing direct message to the senator.

 

Kriffing shit.

 

Force! Poop!

 

Rey tries to rationalize it, but nothing comes, no plausible explanation as to why he would be having direct person to person calls with the First Order. He is supposed to get intel, Kessel told her that much - but this doesn’t seem like intel.

 

It seems like double-crossing.

 

It seems like his intent is to give the First Order an advantage.

 

No. No. She is imagining it. She is seeing connections where there are none - maybe it is a part of his intel gathering. Yeah. Yeah. Of course.

 

Then why did he ruin it? It was obviously important information.

 

Maybe he didn’t smash it in anger.

 

Maybe… maybe...

 

Maybe he smashed it in fear. 

 

Rey blinks, hands clutching the holo so tight in her hands.

 

Maybe he needed it to go away, to ensure no one saw it.

 

Oh Force!

 

Rey’s hands clasp hard against her mouth, curbing her gasp.

 

No.

 

No.

 

Oh, Force.

 

He’s betraying all of them.

 

_ R’iia’s shorts _ , he is betraying his father. His mother.

 

He is betraying the Senate.

 

He is betraying the Republic.

 

He is… betraying her. 

 

_ That kriffing Sleemo! _

 

*

 

Everyone on Jakku is known as something.

 

Given names are seldom used, instead replaced with nicknames.

 

In other contexts, nicknames are often a product of banter, teasing, and loving good-natured fun. But on the desert planet, nicknames are used to reflect who people were within that community of scavengers.

 

Nicknames acted as warnings or labels for special skills. 

 

Unkar Plutt is known by a variety of names, none good, all reflecting his greedy, slothy behavior. 

 

Rey is known as Fury. 

 

It is a name she caught early on, something people called her out of fondness whenever her hotheadedness would show during her scavenger training. How she would scream and throw stuff if Trelo teased her too much in the field. It was a cute thing at first, an adorable display of temper.

 

But then she grew up, and Fury took on an entirely new meaning. 

 

Rey’s temper is a vile and violent thing. Something the other scavengers warned newcomers about. 

 

Some looked at her and decided to test that label. She proved it true pretty quickly. Her nickname was sometimes a blessing in disguise, sometimes not, but so far it had been responsible for many scavengers just avoiding her. Keeping her safe.

 

Rey’s temper had been a thing that helped her survive. Her rage, usually short-lived, proved efficient in asserting power over sometimes uncontrollable situations.

 

Skilled scavenging and assertiveness through anger had been her key tools on Jakku. 

 

Because compassion had been not. 

 

The life on Jakku is a lonely one.

 

Thus, Rey had never taught herself to hold back, to not let that white-hot blinding rage take control of her body, of her mind, of her hands clutching her quarterstaff.

 

And so, it makes perfect sense that Rey now runs to the palace door, holo clutched in her right hand, fury rushing through her veins and with every intent to either kick Ben Solo’s ass to the moon or, if not possible, show the proof to Leia. Let her bring judgment on this nerf herder of a man!

 

The guards have a very different idea.

 

“I need to see Leia!”

 

“And who are you?”

 

“I’m Rey! She knows who I am - Please. It’s very important!”

 

“It’s 2 am, the Supreme Governor is sleeping. What is the issue.”

 

“I can’t tell you! Please, can… can you wake her up?”

 

“No can do, Miss.”

 

“What about the senator? Can you wake him up?”

 

“Senator is not here. He is at the Barrows’ estate.”

 

Guess it is ass-kicking time then.

 

“Fine!” Rey yells in frustration, before turning around, rushing back to her room, and grabbing her staff and the blaster Han gave her. She checks that the safety is on (for now), then marches back into the hangar, grabbing a discarded leather pilot jacket and a pair of goggles. 

 

Boosting and jumpstarting one of the speeders is easy and when she checks the distance to the Barrow estate, she is happy that it is only a few kilometers to the west.

 

Perfect.

 

This is where others would sit and ponder their next course of action, but Rey closes her eyes, recalling the message in her mind, letting the memory ignite her fury, ignite her distress. She needs to be alert and agitated for the next step. He deserves nothing less than the full extent of her wrath and her violence for betraying everything she stands for, what Leia stands for, what Han stands for. 

 

_ He betrayed his own parents. _

 

She punches the ignition and the speeder roars ahead.

 

The air is cold as she speeds her way across the plains, foot heavy on the gas pedal, fingers tight around the handlebars. The crisp air sobers her a bit, but not enough to make her realise what a fundamentally stupid plan this is.

 

Instead, it gives her time to think. 

 

There will be people, there will be security. She will have to be careful and smart, get in and out fast, without being seen. She should wear her goggles. Yes. Good idea. Should she find a back way in or storm through the front?

 

Never once does Rey actually ask herself what she plans to do to the poor senator. 

 

She does not want to kill him, that much she is sure of.

 

She does not want him to get away unscathed, that much she knows too. 

 

That is the thing with anger, it begs for resolution, but offers no solution as to how that should come about. It just states a need. A desperate, all-consuming need for justice.

 

For vengeance. 

 

Anger helped Rey survive on Jakku. She has never learned not to trust that feeling.

 

So she doesn’t dwell on it, doesn’t fully explore her options before the estate comes into view, both as an intensely bright and well-lit pink building, but also as a wall of sound, some sort of combination of laughter, yelling, and music.

 

Rey stops her speeder a few meters before the entrance, next to the brick wall closing the estate off to the rest of the world. Her hands are stiff from the cold wind and she flexes them tenderly, almost as if stalling, hesitating - needing a minute or two to remind herself why she is here. 

 

Her eyes take in the landed property in front of her and she begins to plan her next course of action, going about it just as if she were going to scavenge a Star Destroyer in the desert. She looks for weak spots, places where she’d be exposed to others, places where she’d have to fight to get in.

  
While Rey is good with her quarterstaff, fighting is always a last resort. She needs to be prepared for confronting Ben Solo.

 

Her heart sinks when she realizes just how heavily guarded the house is. No clear back entrance or way to get to the upper floors without being seen.

 

She will have to fight - or fool her way in. 

 

And then a tiny voice in the back of her mind goes,  _ maybe you should wait till the morning? _

 

Rey shakes her head, hesitation won’t get her anywhere. She’d just go back, lie down in her bed, and regret that she gave into to her cowardice.

 

One deep breath.

 

And she steps through the gates.

  
  
  


*

 

Victorious Moongazer, Victor for short, had never really imagined himself as a bouncer, or if he had to use the fancy word from his job description, a bodyguard. And yet, here he stands, in front of an elaborately decorated party for the wealthy, the important, and the superficial.

 

Victor had grown up on Birren, a descendant of Arkanisian and Alderaanian explorers. His father often told him stories of their ancestors, of the brave pilots and rough settlers. How they, as a family had helped build this planet, how they should be entitled to its riches - and not the distant royal cousins of Lord Mellowyn. No, they were the true and honest hardworking Birrenians. 

 

So, it had been only natural for Victor to dream of fame and a grander life. He too fancied himself following in the footsteps of his ancestors, becoming an explorer, settling new planets, discovering new worlds - going to the Outer Rim and putting his name on something.

 

A knee injury trekking the Prespin Hills had botched that though. 

 

So he had gotten stuck here, married a sweet blond-haired human girl from a good family and just… settled. 

 

It was a good life, a decent one. 

 

But sometimes he would still gaze at the stars, especially on days like this where he worked for the Barrows and got entrance duty. There wasn’t a lot to do and the guests in their intricately designed outfits and ridiculous headdresses always pretended he didn’t exist anyway. What harm does a little stargazing do every once in a while?

 

The pay was good enough for him to keep his mouth shut and he had no opinion - or more like, didn’t bother to have an opinion - on the goings on at these estates and their parties. On such a tranquil planet as this, crime and terror attacks were non-existent. It was a peaceful life - a bit dull - but peaceful. 

 

_ Just as we prefer it _ , his wife would often say.

 

The most eventful things that happened were breaking up a fight or helping one of the ladies keep their outfit in check when their stomach eventually turned on them. 

 

Laughter, cheers, and shouts seemed to suggest that this night wouldn’t be any different.

 

“Is Leia Organa’s son here?” a female voice from his right suddenly speaks. 

 

Victor looks down at a small, young, human woman, goggles in her hair and wearing an oversized leather jacket. Her clothes are worn and used, and she has a staff in hand and a blaster attached to her hip. He narrows his eyes. 

 

“Who is asking?”

 

“Doesn’t matter. Is he here?”

 

The guard scoffs, is she serious? “Sorry, can’t tell you that.”

 

“Fine!” Her back straightens. “I'll just go see for myself!” and turns to move to the open doorway on his left, but Victor braces his arm against the door. 

 

“Can’t let you do that Missus. I have to see an invitation.” Not really, but she seems suspicious. 

 

“It is very important that I see him!”

 

Victor sighs. “What is this about?”

 

“I have an important message for him… from uh-his mother”

 

A moment passes, and he sees the girl tighten her grip on her staff, preparing herself. Victor relents, mostly because he doesn’t feel like getting into an argument tonight. “Fine. But don’t make any trouble.”

 

That girl made a lot of trouble.

 

*

  
  


It takes her only a few steps to get to the entrance, staff and muscles ready to fight her way in if she must… but then the doorman just… lets her in.

 

He’d have died on Jakku with that attitude.

 

And then she stands in perhaps the most beautiful room she has ever seen. A vast, round, open space, encircled by balconies and stuffed with tables, flowers, candles, and at the far end, a band of musicians. 

 

There are far too many people and far too many feathers, diamonds, and gold-encrusted  _ everything _ flashing and distracting her. While she has never attended anything as elaborate as this, she knows she is severely underdressed for this place, both from her own observations but also from the way people in her near vicinity stop to stare. 

 

They look stranger than even the strangest aliens. 

 

Dresses, capes, and tunics in the most enticing colours combined with hairpieces made of weird and intricate contraptions, makeup painted as if going to battle. Her weather-tattered beige clothes are immediately an eyesore and Rey feels herself tense at her own incongruity.

 

There is too much of everything. Excessive food and drink, dancing, and… fondling. Rey finds herself disgusted with the display, and the anger which had somewhat faded on her trip here springs forth renewed at all the displays of affluence and superiority which only confirm what Rey already knows of this buckethead Ben Solo. That traitor.

 

“Hi. What a cool outfit! Who are you wearing?” a Rodian shrieks while grabbing the hem of her jacket.

 

Rey blinks, perplexed “I… what?”

 

“Brix, look at this! What do you think this is made of?” the purple-skinned Rodian, who is still just casually touching her clothes, yells at a Mirialan in the corner. She  quickly draws near (as fast as her ArachSilk dress allows her). “Oh gosh, I don’t know. It seems too rough to be Phil-fiber.” 

 

“Is it something made by Vier?”

 

“Oh no, it surely Pandent”

 

Rey then insistently tugs her jacket back, out of their grasps, frustrated and perplexed. “Thank. You.” The Rodians look offended, mouths pouting before abruptly turning away, whispering amongst themselves.

 

This is not going how it was supposed to.

 

A droid then emerges in front of her, its polished shell shimmering blue in the light from the overhead Quella Stone chandelier. “Ambrostine, Miss?”

 

“I… uh… no thank you”

 

“Can I offer you Novian Grog?”

 

“No. No I’m good.” She tries to wave off the insistent droid, who only after much discussion about tending to her needs finally relents when a blond woman in a white dress and the biggest hair contraption Rey has seen all night calls for it to serve her.

 

Her eyes immediately fall on the form next to the woman.

 

Mostly because he is the only one staring at her, mouth agape, eyes dark and intense.

 

Ben Solo.

 

Rey takes a natural step back, suddenly intimidated by the man in front of her. He is big, tall, and she is grateful for bringing her weapon. Keep the big ones at a distance, staffs are good for that - don’t let them grab you. 

 

Then the prickle starts again, intense, moving from her neck to her hands and feet, urging her to go to him, emphasising the rightness of it. Normally Rey would do the very opposite of this, she would ignore it, let it go - but she is _so_ _angry_ with him. 

 

_ So angry that he could think of hurting his own mother like this. _

 

She finds herself suddenly agreeing with the prickle.

 

So, with staff in hand, tightly clutched, she lurches into a march, ready to show him what happens when you cross her. She is known as Fury for a reason. 

 

He’s quite a distance away, but he never stops staring, his eyes focused only on her. 

 

Ignoring how it unnerves her, she maneuvers through the crowd, who are either too intoxicated or too indifferent to her presence to even try to move out of the way for her. This frustration along with her wrath masks her nerves, prepares her, numbs her, and  _ then _ she stands before him and several things happens at once.

 

At seeing him so close, Rey’s brain shuts off. Her full anger returns at the sight of his stupid face, and instead of talking - 

 

She swings the staff to her back -

 

The senator rises abruptly from his chair -

 

\- Rey bares her teeth, tensing her muscles -

 

\- He opens his mouth, “Are-” 

 

\- and then Rey slams the staff forth, aiming straight for his skull. 

 

Her staff stops in mid-air.

 

No sound, no crack.

 

She blinks.

 

He caught it.

 

He… caught it.

 

His head is slightly tilted to the side, surprised himself, as if catching it on instinct, eyes digging into the repurposed repulsor pipe, studying it with intent. The guests next to him gasp -

 

And then everything sort of slows down. 

 

It doesn’t feel like time has slowed down, but it does take a long time for him to recognize her presence, a long time for his eyes to travel over her, narrowed in confusion. Even though it is probably just a second or two. 

 

It feels so strange, all of it. Like the sound has evaporated from the room.

 

It is just the two of them and neither has made a move to claim the staff or release it - they are simply staring at each other.

 

His eyes are so… brown.

 

Then his table companions rise from their chairs too and a blond human woman shrieks at Rey. “What in Palpatine’s name do you think you are doing! Attacking a senator!”. 

 

An elderly man yells for the guards, placing a calming hand on the staff. “You know the rules! Fighting outside!” 

 

Their words break Rey’s trance and she quickly pulls at the staff, attempting to retrieve it to reprise her attack, but he just tightens his grasp. 

 

“Let go!”

 

“You attacked me. Why?”

 

“You know why!”

 

“Believe me, I don’t,” he says, tugging slightly back at the staff effortlessly, pulling her towards him. “ _Enlighten_ me.”

 

“Switch off! You traitor!” Rey hisses, teeth bared like a predator ready to devour him. The nerve! “Or - should I call you  _ Kylo Ren _ ?”

 

Ben Solo’s eyes widen for just a second only to harden and darken, his mouth stiffening, creases aging his face. “What did you say?” The guests surrounding them laugh at the name, confused at Rey’s accusation. Does she not know who this famous person in front of her is? Her eyes dart between them, perplexed. _They don't know?_

 

“What. Did. You. Say?” he emphasizes once more, forcing her to look back at him.

 

Rey opens her mouth to reply, ready to impugn his character further, when she spots the guards making their way through the dancing couples. Quickly, Rey tugs once more at the quarterstaff, unsurprised to see him not give in and instead uses that momentum to slam her feet against the table, tipping it over and hitting him in the stomach - distracting him enough to allow her to gain control of her weapon. 

 

“Hey! Outside!” the guards shout through the busy crowd, drawing their blasters (probably only set to stun) while they too try to snake their way through the surprisingly unconcerned guests. 

 

Why wasn’t anyone surprised that she chose to attack him?

 

But before she can even get a chance to entertain that thought, the guards reach out to contain her. 

 

With skill, Rey avoids them and trips a few of the guards by slamming the staff into their shins. Their yells of agony are drowned out by the loud music, and she starts to run back to the entrance, but to little avail as she sees them surround her from all sides.

 

Then she sees Ben Solo reach from behind the table for her hand and fear overtakes her anger.

 

_ Without much thought,  _ Rey leaps onto a curtain leading to a vacant overhanging balcony and with ease crawls to the top in a matter of seconds, ducking her head and kicking hands off her ankles (thank god for scavenging skills).

 

Guards circle the room and head for the stairs, as more and more people seem to finally notice the ruckus. But instead of panicking and yelling, laughter spreads and they begin to cheer for Rey. Confused by the turn of events, it is natural for Rey to not pay attention to anything except where the nearest exit is. Her legs swing over the hand-carved railings, and she runs for the nearest door, one that leads straight into an  _ occupied _ bedroom.  

 

Caring little for the shrieks and shouts of the room’s occupants, she aims for the opposite set of doors that leads straight into the estate’s huge gardens -

 

-fleeing into the night like a shadow.

 

_ What a disaster. _

 

*

 

Had she turned, had she been more attentive, she would have noticed the senator pushing back his chair to pursue her.

  
  


*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**   
>  [Ambrostine](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ambrostine)
> 
> [ArachSilk](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/ArachSilk)
> 
> [Buckethead](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Buckethead)
> 
> [Elder Houses](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Elder_Houses)
> 
> [Mirialan](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mirialan)
> 
> [Kriffing](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kriff/Legends)
> 
> [Mustafar](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mustafar)
> 
> [Novian Grog](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Novanian_grog)
> 
> [Palpatine](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Palpatine/Legends)
> 
> [Phil-fiber](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Phil-fiber)
> 
> [Quella Stone](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Quella_stone)
> 
> [Rodian](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Rodian)
> 
> [Sleemo](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sleemos)


	6. Chapter 6: Bridges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, anyone still reading this!? Thank you [Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder?lang=en) for the Alpha Read and [K8](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits) for the Beta Read (and multiple Oxford commas) (this fic would not be anything without you guys!)

**Chapter 6 - Bridges**

 

Gravel is significantly easier to run on than sand, Rey oddly observes as she races through the Barrow estate’s gardens. It slips easily under her feet, treacherous, but it is nothing like the wickedness of dunes that can halt you with a single step if the fine grains give under your weight. 

 

Although Rey finds herself growing fond of this planet, she has probably never run so fast in her life. The ground aids her flight.

 

Which is a shame, when considering what a beautiful place she is passing through. She has no time to take in the wonderful scenery before her: the trees, the bushes, the flowers. The way they are cut and arranged to be most pleasing to the eye. Orchards, flowers beds, patios, and ponds, all perfect, all right, all planned - all somewhat unnatural.

 

But this is not something she discovers tonight, because her goal is not to explore and admire the fine estate. No, her goal is to flee. Save her skin. Run as fast as possible. Escape the guards, the estate, the senator.

 

For the first time in her life, Rey curses her temper and her knack for violence.

 

She wishes that she was more adept in subtler ways of achieving revenge.

 

She wishes she sometimes could let things rest. 

 

Alas, she is not skilled in any of these things, so she must accept her faults and do what is required of her. To run.

 

It all goes as hoped, the planned garden passes by quickly and when she reaches a bridge spanning a rushing mountain spring, Rey is convinced she has escaped unscatched. So she slows down, allowing the marvelous structure to be admired as it was intended. Even in the dark, the yellow  Plom Blooms shine brightly as they snake their way around the columns and banisters. It looks like a place where lovers would go, where tender words are whispered and soft kisses exchanged. 

 

The blood is still roaring in her ears, so it is not her fault for missing the sound of feet running in the gravel until a deep voice bellows:

 

“Hey!”

 

Rey tenses momentarily, turning around to see the senator chasing her, his face drawn into a mask of frustration and anger, his eyes dark and full of malicious intent. The air catches in her throat because Rey has seen eyes like this before and she knows the implications. 

 

So she ends her respite and breaks into a run at full speed.

 

“Stop!”

 

She doesn’t. Her hand tightens on her staff, the other reaching for the blaster.

 

“Stop!” 

 

His feet catch up to her, she can’t outrun him.

 

“I said stop!”

 

Rey swirls, finger of the blaster trigger, aiming straight for his head. And then things…

 

Stop.

 

Her limbs freeze, her hands refuse to cooperate, and the finger that so desperately wants to pull the trigger doesn’t move. Her eyes and her lungs are the only things still functional and as her breath quickens she notices the senator -

 

Palm extended, panting, slowly walking towards her.

 

_ He can use the Force. _

 

Rey feels panic setting in, but something prevents it from taking root and holds her in a firm grip. 

 

He steps closer.

 

_ Oh Force, oh Force. _ Her heart is beating so fast, so fast. Fear rushes through her veins and the slow pace with which he leisurely walks towards her does nothing to calm her. His black tunic shimmers silver in the moonlight, his leather boots creak with every step, and his dark eyes don’t waver from hers - intent, purposeful. 

 

And then... he stands in front of her, keeping her still, his hand hovering in front of her face, his fingers almost touching her skin.

 

His gaze travels across her body, mouth moving as if he is a chess player contemplating his next move. 

 

And then he speaks.

 

“What do you know?”

 

Rey’s eyes begin to well with tears, but she refuses to let them fall. 

 

Instead, she lets the violence and insolence of him removing her agency spur her to be bold, to let her anger and fury take over.

 

So she hisses through gritted teeth, “ _ Bite me!” _

 

His hand pushes her back in reprimand, forcing her to remain even stiller, demonstrating his power over her. He draws himself closer, never breaking eye contact.

 

_ He really does have the same brown eyes as Leia _ \- yet, the kindness isn’t there. 

 

Rey is not sure what she sees, but it somehow scares her even more.

 

“Let me try again.  _ What do you know _ ?”

 

Then her tears break free, trailing paths down her cheeks. It fuels her anger. “No!”

 

The senator’s mouth presses into a firm line as if he is about to do something unpleasant, something he doesn’t like.

 

And then she feels it, feels him push into her mind. Rey is not sure how she would explain it, how she knows someone is in her head. The feeling of them shuffling their way through her mental barriers and looking into her soul. All she knows is that it is painful. A violent intrusion. She closes her eyes in agony. 

 

It is only pure instinct that makes her push back, and she pants with each attempt.

 

“No!” She tries to yell, but it is more of a whisper.

 

“Show me and it’ll hurt less.” His voice is calm, betraying nothing. Like a skilled surgeon.

 

She is unable to reply, distracted by his rummaging, pushing around, and shuffling of her memories, searching for something. She tries, she truly does, to force him out, but he’s resolute. And then he stops at one memory.

 

No, no that.

 

He rewinds, retraces -- how, she doesn’t know -- and then she hears him, almost muffled, like he is far away. She is too distracted with what’s happening to her mind to properly listen.

 

“So lonely… so afraid to leave.”

 

She gasps, the pain worsening as she frantically tries to release herself.

 

“At night, desperate to sleep, you imagine an ocean…”

 

No, no! Not that. The memories are so clear: crying in her bed, whispering to herself, talking. He knows it all, how she yearns for her parents. How she would talk and pretend they could hear. How she imagines them everywhere. He sees the ship, he sees their ship rising and somehow Rey pushes him away from that and to another memory - of her in a hammock, imagining it to be rocking her as the sea would.

 

Rey was good at imagining other worlds.

 

He hesitates only to softly whisper. “I see the island.”

 

He sees Birren, he sees her lonely nights on the floor. He sees her hurt, her pain, her struggles. The lines on the wall. 

 

He sees her connections, to Leia, to Kessel, to Gax - to Poe and BB-8.

 

Then he sees Han. Cheeks reddened, burnt by the sun, praising her for fixing the ship -

 

“No!” she shouts, to no avail. 

 

How he would ruffle her hair, call her “kid”, how she trusted him. How he was going to come back. 

 

The senator lingers on these memories. 

 

He smacks his lips as though thinking, before spitting out, “ _ Han Solo _ . You think he’s the father you never had-” he scoffs “-he would have  _ disappointed _ you.”

 

That is what finally gives her the power to  _ push _ , to force him out. Her scream echoes, “Get out of my head!”

 

He pulls his hand away as if burnt, but never releases her body. The corners of his mouth turn down, frustrated with himself. Rey pants, head throbbing, opening her eyes to dare him.

 

He hesitates briefly. “I know you know something. You have it - And now you’ll show it to me.”

 

“I’m not-” Rey gasps, shaking her head, eyes wide open, tears falling, “-giving you anything!”

 

His fingers touch her forehead then, almost gently. He says, “We’ll see.”

 

This time Rey is ready for the intrusion.

 

She knows what it feels like now and is prepared to push, prepared to refuse him - but he is faster and goes straight to the source. The holo. 

 

Rey grunts with effort, and then suddenly she just knows that he struggles too. She never closes her eyes, still staring straight into the dark abyss of his own. He sees the holo but falters and his attention breaks repeatedly, accidentally rifling through other memories.

 

But he sees it, sees her passion for fixing the holo, sees her mending it, sees her thoughts, her excitement - and then her distress. She feels his panic at realizing what she knows, and then Rey pushes, trying to force him to break his hold on her. 

 

He struggles, hands shaking, and she feels it: the fear -  _ his fear? _

 

The prickle encourages her, shows her, trusts her with how to defeat him and then…

 

She’s in his mind.

 

Surprised and overwhelmed at gaining control, Rey dives straight to the core, and there she sees it, so clearly: his fear. The fear of being discovered. The fear of repercussions, the fear of hurting people. 

 

“You..” she gasps -  

 

The fear of hurting his mother.

 

“...You're afraid.” His face contorts into one of trepidation.

 

The fear -- “ _ That you’ll never be as strong as Darth Vader!” _

 

And then she’s free, her limbs once more willing and cooperative. 

 

His hand slumps to his side, his other hand holding it as if it has been torched, mouth slightly parted as he gazes deeply into her eyes. Disconcerted? In Awe? Surprised?

 

Rey repositions her blaster in her hands, pointing it at him but never pulling the trigger - it’s a warning.

 

The senator gasps, chest heaving with exertion, and blinks, “You… You  _ have _ it too.”

 

“Don’t!” she shouts, taking one step back. “Don’t you dare come near me!” 

 

His mouth opens and closes like he wants to speak. 

 

Rey shakes the blaster, bringing his attention back to it, feet sliding backwards. “Don’t!”

 

They stand for a few moments, trying to make sense of it - and when he moves as if to step closer, Rey throws the blaster at him. The turn of events bewilders him as he tries to catch it, hands fumbling, and during this distraction Rey throws herself over the ledge of the railing, hitting the muddy hill below and skidding down its mucky paths, escaping towards the palace. 

 

Rain starts to fall, making her slip and fall on her way back. It’s the first day with rain on Birren and yet Rey doesn’t even notice. Her own tears mix with the water, drenching her to the bone. 

 

The tears only stop falling the instant she punches the locking sequence on the door to her room.

 

This time he doesn’t follow. 

  
  


_ * _

 

Finn wakes abruptly the moment their starship hits the blue atmosphere of Birren. The jostle and drag of the air bolts him from his seat, his hands barely manage to grab the sides of his chair to avoid hitting his head on the top console.

 

“Sorry about that!” Poe grunts from his seat, struggling slightly with the steering as the computer calculates the angle of entry. Finn is quiet, failing to give him any response as he re-adjusts himself into his seat and blinks slightly at the bright blue ocean reflecting back at them.

 

“There’s a slight storm above the palace city, might want to strap in there.”

 

Finn, grumpy and tired, gives him a nod this time before flinging the seat belts across his torso, attempting a few times to buckle them right. Apparently, this is an old ship, worn down by use and quick fixes, with lots of strange noises and beeps.

 

Poe is not lying. There is a storm around where they are headed. It's barely morning on that side of the planet, making the dark clouds even darker and when they break through them, the ship bumping and rattling from the sheer force of nature. Finn clutches his seat.

 

He finds himself a bit embarrassed by his reaction. During his time with the First Order they had been on multiple planets and experienced multiple reentries in vastly different atmospheres, and he had been… fine. Not like the nervous wreck he is right now.

 

Ever since he ran from his squadron on Castilion it seems to be his default mood. Nervous, anxious, willing to do anything to get to the Outer Rim - where he’d be safe.

 

But with no credits and few adequate working opportunities, he had struggled to find a ride off Takodana until Poe had shown up.

 

_ Info on the First Order in exchange for a ride to any planet of his choice. _

 

It sounded too good to be true.

 

But what other choice did he have that would also allow him to make something productive out of his past? 

 

Something that could avenge his friends.

 

The starship jolts as it hits the nimbus clouds, but Poe truly is a capable pilot, so they pass through the storm with little fanfare. The rain is crashing hard against the windscreens when Finn sees it, the tiny welcoming committee consisting of what must be Resistance members, umbrellas shielding their heads from the downpour.

 

Finn swallows, hard. His heart is in his throat. 

 

The pilot glances briefly at the former stormtrooper and tries to say calming words. “It’ll be fine. No need to worry. You’ll be a great help.”

 

“This was a mistake,” Finn says out loud. 

 

Poe scoffs. “Too late to go back though!”

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


The infamous Leia Organa’s hand is warm against his damp palms as she shakes them in a charming  _ welcome _ . She looks well rested, put together -- nothing like what either Finn or Poe must look like. Sweaty, eyes bloodshot, and with heavy bags underneath from days of little sleep. Finn is not convinced she is impressed with him, but it doesn’t show. Instead, she says in the most observant manner:

 

“You guys must be exhausted. I’ll have SE4 take you to your rooms. Get yourself some sleep and we will rendezvous in the afternoon. I am sure my son Ben will be ready to join us then as well.”

 

Finn hardly knows how to respond, so Poe places his wide gloved hand between his shoulders and gently pushes him forward. “Thank you, Leia, I’ll take care of him from now on.” The hand is like a warm anchor and Finn lets himself be lead through the palace doors by the pilot.

 

Leia Organa, the legendary Rebellion princess, so old now, looks poised and regal as she gives them both a tender smile. “See you soon.”

 

It feels as if everything is painted over, unreal, like there is a truth hidden underneath the shimmering metals and rocks. While Poe leads him through the corridors, Finn can’t help but wonder how this world too could try to cheat him. How all the smiles and kind words are just one way of being purposely obtuse, hiding their true intentions. Maybe they will never let him go.

 

Just like the First Order.

 

The First Order used violence, manipulation, and competition as a way of keeping you in.

 

Finn assumes that kindness, overindulgence, and extravagance could be another way.

 

Or at least that is his first thought when he enters the room he is supposed to stay in.

 

It is big, green from top to button, the walls painted as if to mimic the waves of a forest sea.  In the center is a giant bed covered in pillows. The grey morning sun on this rainy day gently lights up the room in blues and whites, painting a picture of a winter’s day in an ancient woodland. 

 

It looks beautiful.

 

Poe’s hand still rests between Finn’s shoulders (as if to ensure that he doesn’t flee?) and the pilot then removes it and softly says, “I’ll fetch you later.” It's a strange feeling, missing the heaviness of his palm, but Finn lacks it nonetheless and just replies with another nod.

 

Everything is mildly confusing right now.

 

The blast door hisses shut and Finn lets himself stand in the enormous room for a second, taking it all in.

 

His chest hurts.

 

His eyes sting.

 

And then he looks at the bed, determined (about what, he doesn’t know). He steps forth and then sits down.

 

It’s too soft. 

 

Yeah, this won’t do.

 

With little thought (for the first time in a while), he pulls off the duvet, takes a pillow, and places them in front of the balcony door. He opens it a crack to let fresh air in and then lies down. The firmness of the ground is a sturdy mooring compared to all of these new sensations. Finn knows what it is like to sleep in harsh conditions, knows what it is like to freeze slightly in the recycled air of a starship, knows what it is like to rest in noisy conditions. So he lets himself reminisce for a bit. Pretending that he’s back on a Star Destroyer. 

 

He allows the First Order to occupy his thoughts. 

 

He allows habits formed in the stormtrooper program to take over his body. 

 

And then he falls asleep. 

 

*

 

“I thought we were past this!” 

 

Finn groans, his neck stiff. His eyes flicker at the sudden burst of sunlight on his face. It seems that the storm passed while he was out cold. The chrono on the bed table reads some time after noon.

 

“No. No. You stay here! Explain yourself!” It’s Leia’s voice.

 

A droid shouts as well, complaining about depreciation, about budgets, about the time it will take to clean up this mess. Finn didn’t know droids could complain.

 

He rises from his makeshift bed and looks out the balcony door to a small courtyard below, now cluttered with broken furniture, bed sheets, and clothes.

 

A tall dark-haired man exits from the left, walking as if he is in a hurry to get away. He’s halfway across the yard when Leia follows in his tracks, shouting, “ _ Ben _ ! Come back here!”

 

Ben (?) ignores her and continues to march in long strides, which the shorter Supreme Governor struggles to keep up with. “What happened!? Was it someone at the party? Ben, - Ben!”

 

He doesn’t reply and Leia throws her arms into the air, “I swear to god! You and your father-”

 

The two enter a living room across the courtyard. Leia’s shouting continues and Finn thinks he hears a tremble in her voice, but it's hard to know at this distance. Sometimes a deep voice interrupts, rumbling an angry reply, only to be replaced with more of Leia’s shouting. 

 

Finn frowns as he takes in the scene before him and the amount of destruction, not sure what to make of it. His hand rests on the cool door frame and he knows then that he won’t be able to get back to sleep, so he closes the balcony door and heads for the fresher - deciding to take things one step at a time.

 

Apparently, structure was not a thing that existed outside of the First Order.

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


There’s a crick in her neck when Rey wakes up the following morning, the pilot seat of the Falcon proving to be just as hostile and unwelcoming as the rest of the ship. She stretches her neck to try to alleviate the pain, but it does little to help. She slumps in defeat, her eyes red and itchy from crying.

 

It had seemed like a good plan to come here, a brilliant one even, when fear was the only thing running her system, lifting and carrying her legs to take her away. When fear had made her open the blast doors to fly away in the Millennium Falcon.

 

Except she couldn’t get the damn thing to run!

 

Either Han was telling the truth about the ship not being airworthy, or it was some sort of cosmic joke. The universe mocking her, laughing at her misfortune.

 

Her head still aches from the senator’s violent intrusion and her hands are numb from the hurried welding on the starter. Burn marks brand her with failure - all pain, no gain.

 

Rey is so tired.

 

A sob breaks from her throat. 

 

The frustration she feels flows through her veins like a horrible itch and in a moment of pure loss of self-control, she kicks the console with her feet. Denting the metal, letting it crush under the weight of her anger. Her feet hurt from the impact, but she finds that she doesn’t care. It’s all a joke. A cruel cruel joke.

 

Rey just wants to go home.

 

The senator’s intense gaze flashes in front of her eyes, and she remembers him standing so close,  _ so close _ , his chest giving off a comforting warmth in the rain. She closes her eyes firmly, trying to still her furiously beating heart, to ignore the blood rushing to her ears and cheeks. Probably in anger, in frustration, in sadness - yes, yes… that was it. 

 

She buries her warm face in her hands, letting loose a muffled scream, and then allows herself to just sit. 

 

To plan. 

 

What to do next.

 

Her thoughts immediately go to asking Leia for a ship or just taking one -

 

Only to be replaced by images of the First Order official from the holo, then the senator’s scared expression when he discovered what she knew. 

 

How can Rey go back, knowing what she knows?

 

How can she stay, knowing the risk of violence to herself?

 

She groans, running through the different scenarios, imagining telling Leia and Han, only to realise that telling them would make  _ her  _ the architect of Leia and Han’s misery. Exposing their son’s double crossing would ultimately undo them. She was sure of it. 

 

Yet - she’d also be the architect of their undoing if she kept her knowledge secret. She’d allow the First Order to destroy everything they worked for. 

 

She would allow the First Order to take over the galaxy.

 

She would be complicit.

 

Rey slams her feet against the console once more, cursing loudly. 

 

_ This is what happens when you follow the prickle! _

 

“Beep?”

 

She jumps, her hand clutching her chest in surprise when she notices the orange droid looking up at her from her right.

 

It looks… curious? Concerned?

 

“BB-8?”

 

It bends its head, wiggling its bent antenna, and Rey’s eyes soften. “Again?” The droid beeps affirmatively and she leans over the armrest and straightens the metal wire. “There.”

 

BB-8 bumps against her leg and Rey covers her eyes with her hands, facing up to the day ahead of her.

 

That’s when her stomach announces that it is way past dinner, breakfast, and lunchtimes, so she decides to submit to her body, knowing that no good decision is ever made on an empty stomach. Yes. She needs some food first, she declares to herself while grabbing her staff and exiting the cockpit.

 

Only to run straight into someone.

  
  


*

  
  
  


Finn finds Poe with his droid BB-8 in the parlor, looking just as exhausted as when they got off the starship, but it doesn’t deter the pilot from yelling an exuberant, "Morning! _ ” _ before deciding that there were better ways of waiting for Leia than to sit inside all day. 

 

So he drags Finn along, showing him the bits and pieces he knows of the palace, which is mostly staff and communal areas, the kitchen, the hangars, the gardens, and the lake. Areas Finn should be most familiar with, considering his own role within the First Order, but he isn’t. Everything is loose and flexible. People chat and seem to not be doing their work.

 

Finn might have escaped his captor, but it appears his captor is refusing to let him go.

 

It makes Finn angry and resentful.

 

It fills Finn with an innate desire to wipe the organisation from every corner of the universe. 

 

Poe doesn’t seem angry.

 

He seems happy and in his element.

 

It shows in the way he charms his way into some leftover sandwiches and a few non-alcoholic ciders as they make their way back to the hangars - the pilot needs to check in on his x-wing. Finn follows him like the lost boy he truly is. It’s not like he has other options. He doesn’t know how to fly a starship and he has no money. So he follows wherever opportunity lies.

 

Something bitter settles in Finn’s stomach.

 

And then he sees it.

 

A YT-1300 Corellian light freighter.

 

“What’s that?”

 

Poe blinks and leans back. “Oh! That’s the Millennium Falcon. You must have heard of it.”

 

Oh yeah. Finn had. How could he forget the stories of the legendary general Han Solo? Enemy of the Order, enemy of the Empire -  _ his  _ enemy.

 

“Wanna take a look inside?” the pilot suggests, grinning.

 

Finn blinks, “What?”

 

“They’re fixing it, so it should be open. Come on!” And before he knows it, BB-8 spins onto the ship and Poe has already stepped onto the ramp and turned on the light, giving Finn no other choice than to follow him.

 

The ship smells - old? And the interior… surprises him.

 

“How is this ship even still flying?”

 

Poe jogs lightheartedly in direction of the cockpit. “I think it is fueled by Han’s sheer determination! Come look at thi- HEY!”

 

A feminine shriek erupts from the cockpit and both Finn and Poe find themselves staring at the end of the quarterstaff mere inches from their faces. 

 

Finn automatically reaches for the staff, his training kicking in, when Poe pushes him back with his shoulder.

 

“Rey?”

 

The girl blinks, looking tired and covered in burn marks. “Poe?” She quickly draws the staff back to her body as she gasps, “You’re back!”

 

“Sure am!” He grins and draws the surprised girl into a brief but tight hug and then opens his embrace to gesture at Finn, who just stands there awkwardly. “This is Finn! The guy I was supposed to find on Takodana. Finn, Rey, Rey, Finn.”

 

The former stormtrooper extends his hand and Rey takes it. Her hand it cold and clammy as though she is nervous. However, her voice is soft and her eyes twinkle - almost in relief that it was them and not someone else. 

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi.”

  
  


*

 

Poe invites Rey to join them for lunch. 

 

Not an overtly bad idea she thinks. Her stomach is growling and she is slightly dizzy given how low her blood sugar is by this point. She can smell the sandwiches from where she sits next to Poe, and things seem to be improving. It is distracting enough for her not to be unnerved by how his friend Finn keeps looking at her. Like he is hyper-aware of her presence, like he is trying to pick her apart and make sense of her.

 

Poe chatters, Finn says nothing, and she is too tired to indulge either of them, so she keeps giving them odd replies and silences.

 

Finn looks at everything like all of this is unnatural to him, as if the green, the freedom, the lack of anything specific to do is foreign and strange. Like he has never known anything but just surviving.

 

Almost like… her.

 

So as they sit in the grass, it is mostly just Poe talking. They chew their sandwiches, smiling and laughing at the pilot’s jokes and his tales of grand adventures and near-death experiences. It is an awkward conversation, but as soon as their taste buds are sated and their dehydration headaches cured, they let themselves be carried away.

 

And then Poe starts telling ludicrous stories. 

 

“That must have killed you!” Rey giggles, mouth stuffed with food, her chestnut hair in three buns shaking with laughter. Finn gives her a smile.

 

“Dead? Come on. I’ve walked away from a ton of crashes.” Poe laughs. “You’ll need to do more than that to take me out!”

 

Rey arches her eyebrow, “So you’re telling me you’re the best pilot in the galaxy, and you crash all the time?”

 

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Poe grins, puffing his chest up in pride. 

 

“So every time?”

 

“Every time.”

 

Rey sips from her water. “I’m just saying - I’ve never crashed anything I’ve flown… ever”

 

Finn chokes on his cider, seeming to find it in him to laugh at the absurdity. He dries his mouth while remarking, “Huh, maybe Rey is the best pilot in the galaxy?”

 

Rey feels her cheeks tingle with pride at his remark and a slight blush colors her cheeks, but Poe brushes Finn off. “Listen! Crashing  _ and  _ surviving demands serious piloting skills - it is not as easy as you think.”

 

Finn’s teeth tear at the bread, stuffing himself. “Why do you need to crash in the first place?”

 

Poe exhales as he throws his hands into the air. “You two are impossib-” he pauses, looking at Rey staring horrified at something between them. And then that something speaks her name: “...Rey?”

 

Finn and Poe turn to look behind them to see Leia’s son stomping… carefully towards them.

 

The cup Rey drinks from stills at her lips as her eyes focus on the figure. His dark hair is a mess, drenched in sweat , his eyes bloodshot and with heavy bags underneath. He looks like a man who hasn’t slept. 

 

Just like her.

 

A breath catches in her throat and she swallows her drink too fast, causing her to cough. Finn is at her side immediately, slapping her back, concern written across his face. 

 

Never do her eyes leave the senator.

 

Poe decides to save the day. 

 

“Solo!” he hollers, getting up on his feet, groaning slightly. “How are things? Long time since I saw you last.”

 

The senator stops, almost as if he hadn’t noticed Poe. He blinks once, then twice, before calmly addressing him. “Dameron.”

 

“How is the capital treating you? Still as incompetent as ever?”

 

“Less since you left.”

 

Poe’s grin doesn’t falter. “I can only imagine! Never fit in there with all those rules and regulations. Right up your alley.” Ben falters, slightly, and Rey’s hands dig into her shorts - she sees Finn notice. The senator’s gaze distractedly flickers between herself, Finn, and Poe. 

 

“Yes. I. I assume,” he finally manages.

 

Poe nods in confirmation, “Good with a little vacation time I gather. Been flying much?”

 

“No.”

 

“Ah, shame. You should really try the -” Ben steps forward, pushing Poe slightly to the side. 

 

Rey cowers behind Finn, grabbing his jacket, still shaking from coughing.

 

“Rey.”

 

“...”

 

“Rey,” he tries again.

 

“...” She gives him a proper glare and Poe for once seems a bit apprehensive about what is happening.

 

His mouth does that thing again, moving it as if his chewing on a thought. Poe gives her a look, almost asking her to explain why Ben Solo seems intent on addressing her. Rey stiffens her shoulders. Her headache from earlier still hasn’t disappeared - it’s good, it fuels her resolve.

 

“I need to talk to you,” he tries once more.

 

“No.”

 

“...No?”

 

“You heard me.”

 

“I heard you,” he replies, grimacing, his back straightening as he takes her in, before stepping even closer. 

 

Surprised, Rey accidentally pulls on Finn’s jacket, dragging him backwards, in an attempt to put more distance between them. They share a look of concern, almost as if Finn asks her if she needs help.

 

“Senator Solo! A holocast for you from the Senate. It is urgent!”

 

The senator turns to look at a timid-looking and scrawny dark-haired man shouting from the palace balcony. Ben hesitates, feet unmoving, and at this hesitation the man who shouted is spurred to take action.

 

“It is regarding Project Starkiller!”

 

Both Ben  _ and  _ Finn freeze, the latter more noticeably so, and this doesn’t go unnoticed by the senator. Rey grabs Finn’s hand in a spontaneous act of compassion, an act of solidarity against the senator’s violence and those he wishes ill. Ben’s eyes dart to their interlocked hands, but he does not react - instead he scoffs, turns swiftly on his heels and makes his way across the field.

 

It is quiet for a while.

 

Poe chuckles to diffuse the tension, albeit nervously. “What was that about?” His eyes turn to Rey. “What have you done to rile him up that much?”

 

“Nothing,” she grumbles.

 

“Obviously not! Caught the attention of a Solo, eh? Don’t let them fool you. They are romantics by nature!”

 

“That is not what this is!” she gapes.

 

Poe winks, as if to mock her, and sits down. Finn remains still, somewhat shell-shocked - his gaze following the senator as he disappears into the palace, until Poe waves his cup of ale in front of his face. “Drink up. These meetings can take long. Gonna need all your strength.”

 

“What meeting?” Rey blurts out.

 

Poe slurps from his own cup before replying, “Resistance meeting. Finn here is from the First Order and he has some good information for us.” 

 

She feels Finn stiffen in her grasp and hurriedly removes her hand as if burned. He looks hurt at her gesture and she feels… guilty.

 

“Loverboy will be there too,” the pilot smirks.

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah, Ben will be there. Big shot in the Resistance, you’ll have to wait a few hours to resolve whatever tension there is between the two of you though - he can’t skip out-”

 

Finn groans “Poe - I really don’t think-”

 

But Rey doesn’t listen.

 

How could she forget.

 

How could she forget he would be present at every intel meeting. How he would swallow up every word they’d say and pass it on to the First Order. 

 

She can’t…

 

She can’t.

 

She can’t let him get away with this.

 

All her fear dissipates only to be replaced with the burning urge to right a wrong.

 

She has to stop him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that this part has fanart? [ Situation-normal ](https://twitter.com/situationnorma1) made these beauties  
> 
> 
> And the always beautiful [ Terestiel ](https://twitter.com/terestiel) did her magic with this!  
>   
>   
>  **References**
> 
> [Castilion](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Castilon)
> 
> [Chrono](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Chronometer/Legends)
> 
> [Plom Blooms](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Plom_bloom)
> 
> [SE4](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/SE4_servant_droid)


	7. Chapter 7: Confinement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confine  
> verb  
> /kənˈfʌɪn/Submit  
> 1.  
> keep or restrict someone or something within certain limits of (space, scope, or time).
> 
> -
> 
> If any of this makes semantic and literal sense, it is only due to the gracious presence of [ alpha reader Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder) and [ beta reader Blessmycurcuits!](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits)

 

**Chapter 7 : Confinement**

 

It’s early in the morning when the sound of the holoprojector rings through Luke’s office in a newly built wing of the Jedi Temple. The sun has barely risen, the sky clad only in easy purples and timid blues. 

 

Luke blinks at the dashboard, a cup of caf stilled at his lips, warming his beard and face. 

 

The holoprojector rings once more.

 

The only living Jedi Master sighs deeply, feeling the ache settle in his back, and moves from his desk to the projector centered in the middle of the room.

 

_ Incoming transmission from Birren,  _ the screen reads.

 

_ Leia. _

 

Sigh - it’s too early in the morning for this. He presses the accept button regardless.

 

His sister’s face flickers, the radiation from the Akkadese Maelstrom i nterfering. Her voice is cut through with static, but he sees her. Her dark hair is spotted with grey, the wrinkles around her eyes are clearer and her eyes sadder.

 

The celebration on  Endor seems so far away. 

 

He rubs his chin in contemplation.

 

“Leia.”

 

“-uk-e”

 

“Can’t hear you, try again”

 

“L-ke”

 

“Let me try something,” he mumbles, sipping from his cup as he turns on the  Imagecaster next to the cam setter. The image clears up somewhat and he can see that it is early evening for her. There’s a sad smile tugging at her lips, but even across the vast distance of the universe he can feel it, that she is happy to see him.

 

“I should start another fundraiser for the Academy,” her voice reverberates against the ceiling, clear and authoritative. She may have left the Senate, but the Senate never really left her. Luke smiles, sitting down in the woven  hornweed chair next to the holoprojector. “We are doing just fine Leia.”

 

She looks around as if trying to determine the truth of his statement through the holo, but she is right. The Academy equipment is old and worn down, so she is not  able to see more than his aged face cradling his favorite cup. They could use some credits to optimise the setup, but Luke has never been a man that understood the purpose of buying stuff if the original thing still worked.

 

Leia, despite being his twin, is different in that regard.

 

“How can I help you this fine morning?” his voice is still hoarse from sleep.

 

There’s hesitation reverberating through the air. The further apart they are, the less he knows her intentions, but still he feels it in the Force. He instinctively knows that she has something to address that requires her utmost finesse, her skills in artful conversation-

 

“Ben?” Luke sighs. 

 

It feels ominous to start his day by talking about his nefarious nephew. 

 

Leia confirms it with her silence, her usual updo is undone and instead her hair is braided, resting over her shoulder, her fingers fumbling with the edges. She sighs but says nothing. 

 

“What did he do now?” Another sip of the coffee, a futile attempt at keeping his pain and anger hidden. He knows that she knows they had a falling out, she just doesn’t know the details of it. How could she not know how bad it must have been? Your son doesn’t flee the Jedi camp and refuse contact with his blood relative, who he lived with for 12 years with, without it being bad.

 

Luke tries not to dwell on it.

 

“He trashed his living room this morning. Destroyed parts of the training facilities with his lightsaber - which I have explicitly forbidden in the palace. “ She draws a painful, shaking breath, “I thought we were past all of this. He had behaved so well the last year. He won’t tell me why, and I fear…” her eyes close, her voice failing to hide the well of tears that threaten to spill.

 

“He’s not our father.” Luke tries to argue. 

 

“I know.”

 

“But you fear it?”

 

“How can I prevent him from straying to the dark, when he won’t confide in me? When he lets things hurt him and then he hurts others? How can we stop him?”

 

Luke knows he should have told Leia about his falling out with Ben - but it seems that with every year it becomes harder to explain. To justify. He tries again. “He is not our father-” a pause, “and he has people that care for him. More than what Anakin had.” Luke knows that is not true, but what else do he and Leia have left besides love when it comes to helping Ben?

 

“What did you do? When he was like this?” There’s insecurity leaking through their bond and he knows her pain from sending her son away. Knows her pain from having to ask her brother for advice on her own kin, because he had been the one Ben had stayed the longest with. While his father and mother were off to the Force knows where.

 

“Nothing that you wouldn’t do.” He smiles softly, “nothing that you  _ can’t _ do.” 

 

Leia smiles back, resting her head in her palm, her eyes shimmering. She swallows.

 

“We just had a disastrous meeting with a former stormtrooper. He had something interesting to say about the First Order that you might want to look into.”

 

Luke leans back in his chair, it creaks under his weight. “I can try.”

  
  


*

 

Amilyn Holdo is her name. Vice Admiral of the cruiser  Ninka. Famous for her exploits, victories, and leadership skills; infamous for her brightly colored hair and unusual personality. 

 

It was a combination that had fit her well and had opened many doors because she was easy to remember - easy to respect.

 

It makes her stand out in a crowd, even one such as gathered before her. Aliens, humanoids, and humans alike stand, sit, or holo in, but all circle the massive holoprojector in the middle of the hall. It is truly an astounding moment to have all prominent Resistance members manage to gather here on Birren, and it speaks of the immense importance of their work.

 

Of how much they fear for the safety of the galaxy. 

 

Amilyn pulls on the green cowl circling her neck, loosening its tight hold on her throat as she takes in the crowd before her. Competent and incompetent leaders and personnel in equal measure. Some she would trust her with her life, some she keeps close, and others she always keeps an eye on.

 

Her success in life has come not from her compassion, but from her ability to ensure  impartiality when required. While the controversial Resistance leader does know the importance of compassion and empathy, she is thoroughly convinced one should never let them overshadow the practical sides to running an efficient and effective resistance.

 

Her friend, Leia, did not lead the Resistance from the same perspective. She believed in the good of all and keeping soldiers motivated.

 

Leia’s compassion sometimes got the better of her.

 

_ Leia looks really beautiful this evening _ , Amilyn smiles while thinking.

 

Even in the dimly lit conference room, Leia’s bright golden dress shimmers in the projector light, casting the princess in a soft green hue - making her hazel eyes dance. Amilyn is always impressed by how put together Leia so effortlessly seems. 

 

She remains one of the most beautiful people Amilyn has ever known, even in their advancing age.

 

So it is a struggle to not let her eye wander to her life long friend, not only because she looks exquisite today, but also because the meeting is as dull as meetings can be. Amilyn has traveled many light years to be here today and all the reports say the same; intel is scarce, intel is lacking, recruiters are struggling.

 

Prince Ben Solo, as she mostly fondly addresses him, has little to offer too, speaking only of rumors and guesses. He stands tall among his comrades, arms crossed, eyes red-rimmed, with deep lines circling his mouth. The vice admiral ponders, as she inadvertently tunes out another dead end in the Outer Rim, how interesting this boy has become. She remembers clearly the bright, intelligent eyes of the sassy young Solo prodigy who has now grown into this stoic and serious man. So unlike his mother and father, his adoptive grandfather and grandmother.

 

He seems so uneasy here - surrounded by the idealism of his mother.

 

A softer smile tugs at Amilyn’s lips, just as Leia’s favorite reckless pilot steps up to the projector.

 

Poe Dameron has always both annoyed and impressed her. His knack for action had made him an invaluable asset, but she has dealt with enough trigger-happy flyboys to know that it often translated poorly into leadership.

 

She clearly sees it now too, as he begins a vibrant (presumably exaggerated) tale of escaping Anoat. The vice admiral finds it hard not to roll her eyes but she knows when to value good intel - regardless of the ego presenting it. Because this particular piece of information manages to place several centrist politicians at the same location - connecting dots they assumed were there, but were now finally proven to be right. 

 

It gives them something to go on.

 

Then a dark-skinned young man is pushed forward and his nervous sweat is easily visible in the green light.

 

Amilyn raises her head, narrowing her eyes.

 

And then he opens his mouth.

  
  


*

 

Finn feels nervous. His palms are damp. His heart is in his throat. 

 

The conference room is heavy, the air hums with low-speaking voices, mutedly commenting on the information given. No one has assigned places, everyone is standing wherever they want - regardless of position and seniority. 

 

Somehow that it makes him angry.

 

He doesn’t know where to look, who to address, what the protocol is .

 

It makes him angry that he knows that his frustration stems from his time the First Order.

 

Leia had been comforting, assuring him that what he had to say would be of value before they made their way to the conference room.

 

Finn had felt somewhat at ease.

 

Somewhat.

 

There was no specific thing that could be blamed for the tension in the room.

 

So whatever tension that existed had been carried over from the uncomfortable confrontation between Rey and the prince at lunch. 

 

Poe had seemed oblivious to the tension ever since lunch, where Rey had stormed off in frustration after the pilot’s light teasing, leaving  _ Finn _ to try and explain a woman’s feelings (and how is he supposed to know?!). Poe had waved his accusation off, confident that he knew the ways of romance.

 

Finn knows that whatever Rey had felt, it was not from a crush or an infatuation - it was fear. Deep piercing fear.

 

He knows that kind of fear. 

 

The prince, however, might feel quite differently. 

 

Finn had been placed directly across from him in the war room, and the brooding man had done nothing but silently stare at him with looks that could kill, almost trying to assess what would be the best way to take the former stormtrooper out.

 

Sort of the same look he is giving Finn now as Poe forcefully pulls him by the sleeve to the projector.

 

And Finn finds himself unable to say anything, his mouth opening and closing -

 

“Finn is a former stormtrooper of the First Order.” Poe firmly introduces. Murmurs erupt throughout the crowd and heads pop up from the back in an attempt to see his face better.

 

Finn swallows.

 

Poe continues. “Finn worked in a squadron under Captain Phasma - yeah, you know her. That means he has been close to some of the organization's most intricate systems and plans.”

 

_ Doing sanitary work _ , Finn reminds himself.

 

“On Anoat the centrists kept talking about some kind of weapon being built - and lucky for us, Finn knows exactly what it is.”

 

_ Do I really though? _ the former stormtrooper asks himself.

 

Poe steps back as if giving Finn the proper space for delivering the information. The information that Finn knows won’t be of any help.

 

But if this gets him off the planet...

 

“They call it Starkiller Base.” The prince locks eyes with Finn, as if daring him to go on - and the fact that he does so unnerves him. Finn feels suspicious, yet he continues.

 

“I don’t know much - or how it works. I was only stationed there a few times -” a breath, “But I know what I saw.” The murmurs quiet. 

  
“It’s a weapon -” Finn pauses, “that uses the power of the sun. It's a converted ice planet and from what I’ve heard it is supposed to be able to destroy entire star systems…”

 

There is an uproar from the crowd.

 

“Ludicrous!”, “Excuse m-!”, “Oh my god!” are some of the phrases that Finn manages to pick up, the voices overlapping, discussions intensifying. 

 

Vi Moradi steps forward, “Where is this thing!? If what you say is true, we need to send a team there immediately!”

 

“I don’t know - somewhere in the Outer Rim,” he regretfully confesses.

 

“Somewhere in the Outer Rim!? Boy, we need more on that if we are gonna stop this threat”

 

“Maybe he’s lying?” A voice cuts through the crowd of thirty or more Resistance members. “This could be a smoke screen to distract us?!” which is followed by a bunch of  _ yays _ in the back. Someone hollers from his left, “He’s a stormtrooper! How did he even escape? The First Order never lets anyone escap-”

 

Finn narrows his eyes, “Listen. It is true! They took a kyber-heavy planet and transformed it into a w-”

 

“Well, we need to know more! We can’t do anything about it if we don’t even know where to look!”

 

“But we have to start somewhere-” a female voice shouts. “We could all be in grave danger!” More people join that chorus and from his spot at the projector, Finn sees Leia step up to the platform.

 

“Finn.” She says in a voice so clear, that it silences the crowd. “How far away are they from completion?”

 

Finn swallows.

 

“I don’t know…”

 

The crowd explodes, yelling and shouting fills the air and Finn feels this peculiar thing - anger, shame, embarrassment.

 

The prince is quiet, carefully looking at Finn, his arms folded across his chest from his spot in the shadows - before he steps forward. 

 

“It is true,” he speaks in his deep voice.

 

Finn narrows his eyes, trying to understand the prince’s motives, but staying quiet.

 

The crowd looks at the tall dark senator, spine straight, a slightly bored expression on his face, and he continues, “I do not know much. But the phrase  _ Starkiller Base _ has been spoken of outside of the Senate.”

 

_ How would he know? _ Finn wrangles, unsure of how to interpret the turn of events. He sees Leia turn to her son in confusion too, as if she is surprised that he knows - almost ...disappointed.  _ Had he not confided in her? _

 

Admiral Ackbar rises from his chair, the cane in his hand steady as he pulls himself up to full height. “It seems that the only way forward with this is to be more intense in our investigations. It does appear from young Finn and Ben Solo’s knowledge, that the First Order is indeed building a weapon.” The prince nods in confirmation as Ackbar continues, “We must find out what this is, and stop it before it  _ stops _ us. And from what I gather, there appears to be knowledge hidden right within the Senate.”

 

Finn feels Poe’s hand grip his shoulder, almost as if to keep him still as he adds, “We need to have more people stationed there.”

 

Leia nods, “I agree. While we have a lot of people with the populists, Ben has so far been the only one who has managed to gain a foothold with the centrists.”

 

“They are still reluctant though,” the prince adds.

 

Ackbar clears his throat “It is decided then. We will start recruiting spies to the different levels of Ben’s staff. We need eyes and ears everywhere.”

 

If this displeases her son, he doesn’t show it, and Finn finds that there might be hope after all, despite the initial bickering. But then Ackbar continues:

 

“Finn will of course join the operations on Hosnian Prime, so we can verify the validity of the claims.”

 

_ Wait, what? _

 

“Wait! Excuse me! I never agreed to this!” Finn protests. 

 

“Fin-” Poe warns.

 

“No. I was told provide intel and then get a lift to the Outer Rim!”

 

Poe sighs, his hand still anchoring him to the spot. “Finn, she has a point, we could really use your help.”

 

In pure frustration, he shakes his shoulder loose and points to  Vi Moradi,  “But you said it yourself. The First Order doesn’t let anyone go! This is a suicide mission!” To which the the female human too shouts to a fellow  member,  “See! How can we be sure he is speaking the truth?!”

 

Leia tries to hush the crowd, “We are not all involved in the cause the same way - We need to respect the wishes of Finn.”

 

“And then what, Leia?! Let them take over the galaxy-”  Caluan Ematt  shouts from the back.

 

“No one is forced into the Resistance!” Leia argues. “Finn has done his part. He has given us information we would not have without his bravery…”

 

There’s a ringing noise taking over the room.

 

Their faces fade.

 

Finn’s knuckles whiten from the sheer force with which he is grasping the panel, attempting to suck in the air that appears to have been lost.

 

This was a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake.

 

Finn tries to help, only to be dragged right back into the thing he tried to escape.

 

He may have escaped one captor, but it seems that he has found someone new.

 

And no matter what he has been promised - he knows he won’t be allowed to leave.

  
  


*

 

“Finn. Finn. Finn!” She hears a voice call in the far distance and Rey extends her neck briefly to scour the horizon, her hand grasping the rope tightly in her leather-gloved hands.

 

It’s Finn and Poe, debating fiercely, arms flying and voices rising as the pilot appears to try and calm the stormtrooper. She sees Poe try to place his hands on Finn’s shoulders, but he shrugs them off, waving his hand accusingly and extending it towards the door from which they emerged, the yellow artificial light bathing their backs.

 

It must have gone badly, Rey reflects as she pulls herself up and flush against the wall. Her arms ache slightly from several days without climbing Star Destroyers for scrap. It is amazing how little time it takes for muscles to deteriorate.

 

Her leather gloves creak as she readjusts her hold, waiting for the argument to pass, no need for her to be seen doing what she is doing. The wall is cool against her forehead in the night and it allows her a chance to rationalize a bit why she is breaking into the palace…

 

Rey is convinced had her mother been here, she would have scolded her, reprimanded her for her recklessness.

 

Alas, her mother isn’t here.

 

And the senator is attending a Resistance meeting from which he will surely forward the information to the First Order. Rey may not be able to stop him, but she can stall him until she has figured out a more permanent and less hurtful way to end his involvement either in the Resistance or the First Order.

 

She had turned the holo in her hands, analyzing its contents over and over again - and the more she watched it, the more she was sure of his double crossing. But also more sure that it alone wasn’t enough to convict him. Not enough to convince anyone. Yet, she also doubted its credibility - she needed to know. She needed it confirmed. 

 

She has doubted if she should act on it, to try to get more evidence.

 

She has doubted if she could even succeed.

 

But when he marched up to her, demanding her time and attention earlier today, to interrogate her further, probably to hurt her, she had known she had to do something.

 

Attacking him head on isn’t an option. She knows the guards won’t let her through the front doors. She knows the holo in her bedroom won’t be enough to incriminate him. 

 

So.

 

Breaking in is the final option.

 

Because she needs further evidence.

 

Because he  _ hurt _ her.

 

The light from the door fades, as do the voices, and she takes it as her cue to pull herself to her full height and drag herself up the rope to the overlook a few stories up. Rey is not sure if this is his personal chambers, but she had seen him scouting the horizon multiple times from this vantage point at night, so at least it must be close to ...something.

 

Rey is not sure how telling it is of this planet that she has not encountered any security measures that prevent anyone from crawling up the side of the building to any of the windows. 

 

Rey feels like she is violating the planet’s trust. 

 

She reaches the  duracrete railing and carefully raises her head to inspect if someone is in the room connected to the balcony.

 

The lights are off.

 

It looks like an office.

 

She swings her body over onto the balcony and carefully fastens the rope once more, pulling at the edges and tightening it around the columns. The air is cool tonight and there’s hardly any wind so the rope won’t be noticed. 

 

Her feet tread lightly as she makes her way to the doors. It’s an old style of door, on hinges. Rey’s eyebrows rise in surprise and she pulls on the handle, almost stupidly,  just to see…

 

...and the door opens.

 

The people on this planet are far too trusting of its inhabitants. 

 

_ Or maybe they just don’t expect someone to climb five floors to enter through the balcony. _

 

That too.

 

The office is painted in night blues, but she can tell it is decorated with a calm air in mind. The walls are clad in cream tapestries and a wooden desk takes center stage, with a plush dark green chair behind it and two smaller ones in front. Plants are everywhere, ranging from the wildly exotic to the familiar. A small reading nook on her left is stuffed with carefully arranged pillows.

 

It feels like a pleasant place to stay.

 

She fills her lungs with air and gathers her courage. 

 

The meeting is not adjourned yet, that much she is sure of, but she nonetheless places an echo locator at the main door, just in case footsteps come near. It’ll give Rey plenty of time to rummage through his room without being caught. Her fingers trace the plant next to the balcony door, its lush leaves curled in an intricate pattern.

 

It is obvious that this is not his main office and only has the bare essentials: a tiny holoprojector,  comlinks, and  datacubes . Behind the desk are a set of open hydraulic doors, leading to what appears to be a bedroom. 

 

Her legs take her away before she even has time to plan her own investigation.

 

There’s a distinctly pleasant smell to the rooms. While it is clear that it is regularly cleaned, a subtle fragrance hangs in the air, slightly musky, but also… homey. It smells like someone lives here. That it is someone’s home.

 

Her hand traces the surface of the desk as she treads into the room.

 

The bedroom is different.

 

The bed sits in an alcove, surrounded by white wooden plank walls and clothing thrown about. It has a much different atmosphere to the office, with the closets left open and the bed unmade. As if someone had to leave in a rush, woken up from a nap probably.

 

Rey instantly goes to the cabinets, rummaging through the contents. If he had something to hide it would probably be in here. 

 

It doesn’t take her long to find holorecorders, password locked holos, and  star maps . She gathers them in a pile on the bedroom floor and goes back to the office. 

 

The echo locator beeps and her entire body stills. Her ears listen for footsteps and she repeatedly glances to the balcony, ensuring the rope is still there, her hand stilling on the drawers in his desk.

 

It beeps once - twice - and then nothing. 

 

Someone decided to walk in another direction.

 

Her hand goes back to pulling open the desk only to find -

 

One is locked.

 

Good. Rey knows how to break into things.

 

She pulls out a pen from one of her pockets and stars to turn it in the rather simple and ancient lock. It creaks and grinds, but then lets go in an instant, almost mockingly telling her that it will not go down so easily - that things like these are not easy.

 

The drawer slides free and inside it there’s… paper. Lots and lots of paper, pens, ink, and what must be what is known as a book. Rey recalls stories of these.

 

She pulls it from underneath the stack of papers and flips through its pages, the surface of its cover fine and soft under her fingers. Nothing in its contents stands out to her though. It looks more like a diary than anything else, written with beautiful intricate letters. 

 

Frowning, she puts it back down into the drawer and takes her other findings with her back to the spot on the floor.

 

She stands, surveying her pile, unsure of what to do.

 

The echo locator is silent - for now. She gives it a glance, making sure the light still flashes, indicating it is on. 

 

It flashes, once, then again; it’s on.

 

Good.

 

The prickle has been silent today, neither pulling nor pushing. It is frustrating her actually. Because for the first time ever, Rey finds that she doesn’t have anything to go on, relying only on her smarts.

 

She toes the holo at her feet, grimacing. 

 

She can’t stop him.

 

She can stall him.

 

Bending down she begins to put her mediocre slicing skills to use, trying to get some sense of the content, but most of the holos are novels, videos, or too password encrypted for her to make it through.

 

The feeling of his leather glove against her forehead intrudes into her thoughts. How he had embarrassed her, how scared she had been. He could have taken whatever he wanted with no consideration for her well-being.

 

Her head starts to ache again, the effect of the intrusion still lingering, and she gets angry.

 

So, so angry.

 

Her anger doesn’t erode when each holo turns out to hold nothing of value. She groans into her knees and pushes at the pile with her foot. 

 

She stays like that for a little while, before agreeing with herself that she’ll do one more round to see if she can find just… something.

 

Voices from outside the window can be heard, but they seem far away. She moves her head to the window - the door to the conference room remains closed. She still has time.

 

The cabinets and other supposedly secret nooks in the office reveal nothing, and the bathroom has nothing but a wide range of cleansing products that Rey has no idea how to use. The bedroom is devoid of anything interesting as well, she even starts to look through the discarded black clothing scattered on chairs and the bed.

 

She grabs a tunic to see if anything is underneath it (there’s not) and for a moment, gets lost in how soft the fabric feels.

 

It tingles against her fingers.

 

It looks very beautiful this up close.

 

She closes her eyes and brings the tunic to her face, feeling its softness against her cheek. 

 

The smell from earlier is even more powerful through the clothes and before she really knows what she is doing…

 

She sniffs the shirt.

 

Hard and deep.

 

Her nose traces the seam and it feels so relaxing to stand there, relishing the comforting smell it gives off.

 

She wonders what kind of laundry detergent they must use.

 

And that’s when she spots the red light from under a pillow.

 

She releases the shirt as if burnt and steps away, hands wiping off the scent onto her pants. 

 

There’s the red light again.

 

She leans over the mattress, careful not to touch the tunic again and lifts the purple pillow.

 

It’s a small…  crystalline pyramid device ( ?) emitting a soft red light that slowly fades and then illuminates again. Like the rhythm of someone sleeping heavily.

 

Rey swallows. 

 

It looks like something she shouldn’t touch.

 

It looks like something that is definitely bad. 

 

Is it…  _ whispering _ something?

 

She leans further across the mattress to inspect it closer and carefully extends her fingers and then...

 

...touches the tip of the pyramid.

 

The room transforms.

 

The walls are replaced with black. Pure solid blackness.

 

And then the sound evaporates.

 

Leaving only silence…

 

And the heavy voice of a dark hooded figure in the doorway, his wrinkled face twisted in an awful grin.

 

_ “Well. If this isn’t unexpected.” _

 

_ Rey gasps - _

 

And then he’s gone, along with the darkness and the silence.

 

She clutches her hand to her chest, her fingers stinging with an eerie coldness. As if someone had dunked her entire fist into a bucket of ice.

 

“Wha...wha-” she hears herself whisper out loud, blinking in disbelief.

 

The pyramid pulses steadily next to her, and without much thought besides getting away, Rey jumps from the bed and runs to the balcony. 

 

The rope is still there! But just as she is about to swing her feet across the railing, she sees it. Guards - taking a break a few stories down.

 

_ Kriff _ .

 

“Urgh!” she groans out loud, rubbing her palms against her eyes. 

 

She can wait the guards out or she can escape through the palace itself, pretending to have been fixing stuff if someone tries to question her - but it is really hard to think this through with the blood rushing in her ears and the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

 

Curses spring from her mouth as she kicks the concrete and speeds towards the doors in the office, picking up the echo locator.

 

The hydraulic doors whoosh open as soon as she nears them. She charges to the left, still clutching her hand. It's late, no one is walking the halls.

 

Good.

 

She scurries around the corners, speeds down the stairs, avoiding the repulsorlifts, but with little regard for carefulness otherwise. The revived headache is doing little for her focus and it appears to only be growing and makes it really hard for her to -

 

“Oof!” The owner of the hard chest replies, when she promptly smashes into it, face first. Two hands grab her shoulders reflexively, preventing her from falling backwards. 

 

She growls in pain as her hands grab her nose, which had been the unfortunate victim of her oversight, in agony.

 

She is pulled away from the chest and feels eyes trying to assess her state, examining her face for injuries - which is hard when she covers the entirety of it with her hands. 

 

A whimper of pain escapes her throat.

 

“Rey?” the deep voice of the  _ senator _ gently speaks.

 

Her eyes spring open. 

 

The  _ senator _ .

 

_ Kriff! _

 

Panic overrules her pain and she stumbles, hands still clutching her face as she comes face to face with -

 

The very… wide-built  _ shirtless _ chest of the senator.

 

Who is staring at her as if he has seen a ghost.

 

She gasps,  _ involuntarily _ . 

 

And then they just stand there.

 

Doing  _ nothing _ .

 

Which gives her ample time to notice how his chest expands with each shaky breath. How the sweat is slowly drying as if he has just come back from training. Scars trail along his long body. His pale face is no different than yesterday, except for the gentle pink coloring his cheeks.

 

Why is her face burning so?

 

“Ah...” she somehow manages to say and then quickly ducks around him, mumbling a quick  _ Senator _ , as she hurries down the servant stairs. 

 

She hears him draw in a breath when she accidentally grazes his side in her flight, but he doesn’t move. Rey tries not to think about it.

 

This time he doesn’t follow her either.

  
  


*

  
  


Her heart refuses to still, even after she makes sure her nose is not broken and the blood is cleaned off. It thumps away, unaffected by her animosity, as she stares at the ceiling in her room.

  
  


*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that this part has fanart? [ Situation-normal ](https://twitter.com/situationnorma1) made these beauties  
> 
> 
>  And the always beautiful [ Terestiel](https://twitter.com/Terestriel) did her magic with this!  
>   
>    
>  **References**
> 
> [Akkadese Maelstrom](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Akkadese_Maelstrom)
> 
> [Caluan Ematt](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Caluan_Ematt)
> 
> [comlinks](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Comlink/Legends)
> 
> [crystalline pyramid device](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Holocron)
> 
> [datacubes.](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Data_cube)
> 
> [duracrete](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Duracrete)
> 
> [Endor](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Endor)
> 
> [Imagecaster](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Imagecaster)
> 
> [Ninka](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ninka)
> 
> [star maps](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Star_Map)
> 
> [Vi Moradi ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Vi_Moradi)


	8. Chapter 8: IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I could show you the ways of Force.” His voice is gentle, so unlike anything else.
> 
> “I could show you the way of my kriffing fist.”
> 
> Aka.
> 
> They try to talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of this makes semantic and literal sense, it is only due to the gracious presence of [ alpha reader Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder) and [ beta reader Blessmycircuits!](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits)

**Chapter 8: IX**

 

The  Convor sings a secret tune on a branch next to Leia’s office window, left ajar to let in the fresh morning air while the Supreme Governor tries to awaken herself from a night of fitful sleep and dark dreams.

 

And as with any dream, she recalls nothing of consequence except the empty, sad feeling it left her with.

 

The songbird carries on, chirping of beauty, comfort, and the promise of a new day. Oblivious to her pain. 

 

Leia doesn’t need a new day. She needs something to... _ happen _ , she needs knowledge, she needs things to right themselves.

 

Her bare fingers tap against the now cold cup of caf, but she insists on sipping from the bitter brew still, finding it befits the frustrated and restless knot she carries with her today. The threads of dread from the disastrous meeting yesterday have curled together and become intertwined, and no matter which end she tries to tug on to alleviate the presence, nothing yields and nothing calms her. 

 

It reminds her of her days in the Senate. 

 

It reminds her of the dark days in the Rebellion. 

 

Yet, it seems that the Resistance remains small, that it is only those who are truly dedicated to the cause, who are willing to risk life and limb to expose the First Order for what it truly is.

 

It meant they have few resources.

 

And even fewer people willing to gain the intel needed to convince the rest.

 

Apparently, no one feels the call to arms when the universe is not on the brink of destruction.

 

Perhaps Leia’s lessons of preemptive action and caution lack a heroic spirit compared to actual fighting.

 

The comm-device in her left-hand beeps and she slams it on the desk, finally giving up on trying to make it connect to Ben’s device. She hears the signal leave her comm,   it tries to connect, but then it just bounces back. Which can mean two things: either his device is broken or he has turned it off...on purpose.

 

That would be very much like him.

 

Leia pushes herself out of her chair by the armrests and stomps from her office, fuming, and makes her way to his chambers, a few floors above. Refusing to let her bad luck and misfortune deter her spirit. Deter her mission. Deter the Resistance.

 

The hydraulic door to his rooms whooshes open with little fanfare, almost mocking her plight, and reveals his brightly lit office and living space. She squints and takes in the scene. The morning sun bathes everything in soft hues of blue in a painting of calm ambiance, betraying nothing of this world’s true wickedness. 

  
  


Her son doesn't look up as she presents herself in his chambers, probably having felt her coming from a mile away. He remains still, leaning back casually in his chair, lost in thought. One hand twirls a bronze dagger, slowly drilling a hole into the expensive wood of the desk. 

 

His mind is opaque, shielded from her, hiding whatever is troubling him from his concerned mother.

 

Also, his room is a mess. 

 

“Why aren't you answering me?” the mother in her scolds him, and she finds herself cringing inwardly at the accusatory tone her voice takes on. 

 

He doesn't lift his gaze, “You've called?” 

 

“Several times.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Are you purposely ignoring me?” No reply, the knife still twirling. “Ben, we have promised each other no matter our differences that we wo-”

 

“I am not.” He lifts the blade and inspects his reflection in the polished steel.

 

“You are not what?”

 

“Ignoring you.” 

 

“Well then, explain to me why you’re not answering.”

 

He lifts his comm device from his desk, still not looking at her, and shaking it slightly for her to hear a  _ rattling _ sound. Leia frowns and reaches over to inspect it on her own. She shakes it too, confirming its lack of function.

 

“I’ll have C-3PO send you a new one.”

 

“Don’t bother.”

 

“No?”

 

“Your new mechanic ruined it.”

 

“New mechanic?” Leia asks, frowning, not recalling having signed any new contracts in the past few months.

 

He leans back into his chair, twirling the dagger once again and palming his chin. “Rey.”

 

Sometimes, just before a ship jumps into hyperspace, time appears to stretch out towards an agonizing halt. It pulls at every fiber of your being, violently sucking the air out of the room and leaving the cockpit silent. The hair on your neck stands and goosebumps pluck at your skin.

 

At the mention of the girl that Han brought to Birren, Leia finds that time seems to bend just like that.

 

And she inhales deeply.

 

Ben, always the observant boy, sees this and raises his eyebrows questioningly. Almost holding her accountable for her body’s involuntary response.

 

Leia sighs.

 

“Rey, --” a pause. “I know her.” Her bare hand, devoid of any superficiality, places the comm device back on the desk. “Your father brought her here.”

 

From the corner of her eye, she sees how his jaw tenses and the dagger stills. She knows the risks of mentioning Han, of bridging the realities of father and son - yet, what else is there to be said but the truth? That this young girl had been so important to Han that he had begged his wife to shelter her, to care for her, so that she would not go back to Jakku.

 

More so than he probably ever begged anyone to care for his own wife and son.

 

Leia is not resentful, she knows him after all.

 

However, she understands the sudden tenseness in her son and the anguish that engulfs the air.

 

“I know.” He solemnly replies. 

 

It surprises her. 

 

“You do? From where?”

 

Ben nods his head towards a pile of tech deposited on the floor of his bedroom. “She was here last night.”

 

Leia narrows her eyes, not fully wanting to think the thought through to its conclusion, and yet she naively asks, “Doing  _ what _ ?”

 

A snort escapes him and he almost rolls his eyes at her ignorance as he chooses to not reply to  _ that _ . 

 

“I don’t know. I ran into her in the hallway - and when I came back, I saw  _ this, _ ” gesturing to the mess.

 

“And why would she go to your room to dig through your things? I don’t appreciate you putting blame on the staff for y-”

 

“She was looking for something.”

 

“And what was she looking for, Ben?”

 

He pauses.

 

Leia crosses her arms in motherly defiance.

 

Then he starts moving his mouth, contemplating his words, before placing his dagger on the desk. “I don’t know.”

 

“Then don’t accuse her if you are not certain.”

 

“I am certain.”

 

He rises from his seat, the leather squeaking softly from the removal of his weight and he points at the rope attached to the columns of the balcony railings. “She left a souvenir.”

 

Leia blinks, perplexed by the seemingly very low tech effort at a break in, and even more puzzled by the lack of alarms or alerts from the guards. 

 

Somehow knowing the girl’s background of a simple life on Jakku, convinces the princess that her son is, in fact, speaking the truth. She would know how to scavenge, know her way around a ship, and she would presumably use less sophisticated methods for moving about.

 

But why had she been in his room?

 

“I still don’t understand what she could have been looking for? And why you? When have you two ever met?” Leia puzzles, as she slides the rope through her hands.

 

Silence.

 

Leia turns and gives him a  _ look _ .

 

He pulls at the hem of his  adesote robe, as if that would serve as a legitimate response to her question, before elaborating. “She’s strong with the Force.”

 

“You’re deflecting.” Leia loosens the rope, collecting it in her hands for the med droid to test for DNA.

 

Ben shrugs, placing his hands in his pockets. “What do you want me to say?”

 

“I want you to tell me the truth, but that seems to be off the table for today,” she complains, shaking her head, before gesturing to his living room furniture. “Sit down, we need to talk about your mission.”

 

He complies, for once -- hesitantly, but still complying, sitting down in his plush green wingback. Leia sits on the opposite couch, placing the rope next to her. Ben pries at her mind, trying to read where she is headed with this conversation. She raises an eyebrow at that.

 

So suspicious of her.

 

What has she ever done to merit this kind of distrust?

 

Once he realises his misstep, he shyly looks away. Leia frowns, but begins.

 

“While we haven’t found a volunteer, I think it is warranted that we start discussing how to integrate further Resistance members into your staff for intel gathering.”

  
  


*

 

Rey fidgets on the bench outside of Leia’s office, the guard droid standing perfectly still next to her, keeping a close eye on her as if it suspects that she’d bolt.

 

She is pretty close to bolting.

 

A groan leaves her lips and she tries to calm her shaking legs by pressing her palms against her knees. Her calloused hands rub them in a soothing motion.

 

She has been waiting for 40 minutes in the shimmering golden hall, all alone except for the droid who fetched her in the hangar (and interrupted her work on the Falcon), claiming that  _ Leia wanted to see her now.   _

 

Apparently  _ now  _ meant something different to the important and affluent, because Rey is not sure that waiting this long counts as  _ now _ . 

 

There’s a restlessness in her bones, an anguish over what cause Leia could possibly have to want to see her. Maybe it was good news? Maybe it was something about Han?

 

Or maybe it was about that  Hutt-spawn Ben Solo. 

 

It seemed more and more likely as time passed.

 

Also, it doesn’t help that since her run in with Leia’s son, sleep had eluded her and her frantically beating heart had taken on a life of its own. Her brain conjured the image of his bare-naked chest over and over again, and his face -- cheeks blemished with pink, looking so surprised, so...not angry with her.

 

He truly was the worst.

 

The lack of sleep had spoiled a perfectly good and reasonable head and she had stumbled into the hangar with no plans, no thoughts, except to work herself to exhaustion.

 

She didn’t feel tired now.

 

The door whooshes open and a golden protocol droid rushes out, arms stiff as it exclaims in a programmed cheery voice, “Ms Rey! Good to see you again, the Supreme Governor is ready to see you now, come in!”

 

Rey sighs as she gets to her feet, and just as she is about to enter the office, the droid quickly adds, “Also, may I remind you that the proper greeting to Her Supremeness is a  curtsy for a female.” Numbed by anxiety, she finds that she can do nothing but nod as her feet cross the threshold into the lavishly decorated office.

 

Leia sits behind her desk, hands folded in front of her. Expectant.

 

The droid in the background chirps, “Isn’t it wonderful, Princess Leia, to have one of Ben’s nannies with us again?”

 

Leia blinks, caught off guard, staring at the droid like it has grown two heads. “Did you fry a chip?”

 

“No ma’am, all is well.”

 

“Go down to the technicians, have them look you over just in case.”

 

The droid looks almost...offended, but obliges nonetheless, leaving them alone. Leia shakes her head, muttering something close to  _ Ben’s nanny, Force, she is at least ten years his junior,  _ before gesturing to the chair across the desk.

 

“Sit down Rey.” 

 

Rey does as she is told, briefly wondering if her unwashed clothes will stain the fabric - it doesn’t seem like a consideration Leia has had. The chair is soft. It makes her feel uncomfortable.

 

For the first time since she has arrived on Birren, she feels in general that she is unwelcome, unwanted - it tugs at her heart. 

 

Has she broken Leia’s heart too? Was it a mistake not confiding in her from the beginning? Did she...disappoint her?

 

The princess doesn’t say anything for a while, looking at Rey, taking her in, before reaching behind her desk and retrieving a comm device and a long piece of rope. 

 

“I’d like to give you the chance to tell me - what I should think about these two things.”

 

At first, Rey doesn’t recognize either, until she suddenly realizes -  _ she forgot to untie the rope... _

 

“Oh,” she whispers, unintentionally.

 

A pause.

 

Leia taps the comm device with her index finger. Her face reads of exasperation -- not anger, but also not compassion. 

 

“I hope you will be brave and tell me the truth.”

 

Rey softly prods, “And - if I don’t?” 

 

“Then I would like to know why.”

 

There’s something odd and unsettling about this, the way that Rey feels Leia’s anger burning in the room. But she is not attacking her, not punishing her, they are just ...talking. The scavenger in her has never talked her way out of anger, has never fought her way to resolution.

 

Her legs start to shake again.

 

Leia seems so disappointed already. 

 

She doesn’t intend to disappoint the princess any further.

 

Rey squares her shoulders. 

 

“Your son works for the First Order.”

 

There, finally, it's out there.

 

“I saw a holo from one of the First Order generals talking directly to him and in his roo-”

 

It’s like the dam breaks in her and every word and experience she has had are pushing at her lips, wanting to escape, and she is about to let them, when she sees...

 

Leia isn’t shocked.

 

“I know, Rey.”

 

Rey blinks.

 

She knows?

 

“You...know?”

 

“That’s what he is doing in the Senate. He is supposed to talk to the First Order sympathizers. He is supposed to antagonize the populists.”

 

“But, I found this holo! Where the First Order talk about Ben Solo and someone called-”

 

“Rey. We know.”

 

Rey’s mouth slams shut at Leia’s firm tone. 

 

Right. They  _ know _ . 

 

Force.

 

She slumps against her chair, feeling her eyes burn, her throat tighten. All that violence, all the anger and she was...wrong?

 

But...that holo, something wasn’t right about it. Something about the device in his room was wrong.

 

It had felt so wrong to touch them, so wrong to see what she saw.

 

But then again - Leia  _ knows _ .

 

Good Force, she just accused the legend of the Rebellion’s son of  _ betraying _ his  _ own _ mother.

 

How could she have been so stupid? 

 

Blinking away the tears, her gaze turns to her lap and her hands clenching and unclenching.

 

A moment passes where neither says anything, and she can feel Leia’s hard gaze on her, trying to determine something.

 

Then something shifts in the air and the anger dissipates in favor of empathy and a deep-cutting sadness. 

 

“Rey.” Leia sighs, “I am not happy with you right now, and I do not appreciate you breaking into my son’s room and damaging his stuff. I do not appreciate you antagonizing him-”

 

A soft sob almost breaks free.

 

“- But I do not blame you. I too would have thought the worst, had I encountered that kind of information without knowing its context.”

 

Rey’s head snaps to Leia’s, who absentmindedly traces the contour of the comm devices, lost in thought. “We were reckless in Rebellion too, so eager to end the Empire. I understand where you are coming from.”

 

She supposes that Leia’s words are meant as a comfort -- primarily to lecture her, but also to comfort. Yet, the words do little to still the questions that speed through her head, one after another, though none emerge from her mouth. 

 

Was it recklessness that made him enter mind?

 

Why was he so fearful of being discovered, if everyone knew?

 

Why didn’t he want to be discovered then?

 

But Leia knows. She knows?

 

Is Rey in the wrong?

 

At Rey’s silence, Leia looks back up from the comm, her eyes tense. “I do not know what kind of manners you were raised with, but I expect you to not damage my property further, while you are my guest. I will accept this one transgression, but if you continue this behaviour I will have you transported off this planet - regardless of Han’s wishes.”

 

Rey swallows, nodding.

 

“Good. Now. As compensation you will join us for dinner tonight and personally apologize to my son.”

 

“Dinner?”

 

“Yes. Dinner. It is not a reward. In my experience amends are best achieved on a full stomach, and I do not intend to have you in my office again.”

 

“But-”

 

“No buts. You have broken my property, I will decide how you are to make amends.”

 

Amends?

 

Amends!?

 

So he is not supposed to make amends to her?!

 

Is Leia truly sheltering this doofus of a man and ignoring all his transgressions while reprimanding others? Letting him punish and inflict violence, letting him keep dark and evil things in his rooms?

 

Or ...does she not know? Does she know  _ all _ of it?

 

Rey tries to curb the bitterness that rises like bile in her throat, swallowing once, then twice, before stoically agreeing. “Okay.”

 

“Good. That was all. See you tonight. Dinner’s at 7 pm. The guards are informed.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Rey stands from her chair, conflicted, her emotions churning and undecided about the whole affair that just happened, when Leia suddenly, in the softest voice says:

 

“Thank you, Rey. For telling me the truth.”

 

The scavenger’s hand grasps her chair in surprise, “I...welcome.”

 

Leia gives a short nod, and drops her gaze back on the holos. “See you tonight.”

  
  


*

 

When Rey gets back to her room, the restlessness remains, even as she rewatches the holo over and over again to make sense of it all. The smell of his clothes still lingers in her nostrils,  _ mocking her.  _ The headache is still present, the wound from his attack on her still stinging (although less than the day before), laughing at her. Her angry, heated cheeks are taunting her.

 

Like hell she’ll apologize. 

 

*

  
  


The sun’s setting light fractures beautifully upon the long table in the Orangerie, playfully painting it in various golden, green, and orange hues.

 

The guests gasp as they enter, some more than others, mainly those not used to the expensive habits of the princess.

 

Finn is not impressed.

 

Finn is far from amiable this evening.

 

Finn is, to be truthful, in a sour mood

 

Yesterday’s realisation -- that he has, in fact, just been lured back in by another organisation, an organisation caring only for an end goal - left him with a seething anger that has failed to dissipate. And when he goes to sit down at the long table he is mad, well and truly mad, after having spent the entire day ignoring Poe and his various failed attempts at summoning him. Only the promise of food had persuaded him to drag his limp and defeated body out of his room.

 

He grumbles with his arms crossed, but luckily he has been placed far away from anyone of consequence as well as Poe, who he notices keeps glancing towards him from the other end of the table. Finn snaps his head back and stubbornly glares at his plate.

 

Rey then suddenly sits next to him, fuming with anger. Her face is red, as if hurriedly scrubbed clean.

 

They are silent as everyone slowly makes their way to their designated seats and then Finn blurts out, “Same.”

 

Anger is replaced with a soft expression of understanding. “I just need this to be over with.”

 

“I didn’t think you were a part of the Resistance? Joining?”

 

“No.”

 

Finn nods, crossing his arms, straining his neck from avoiding Poe’s inquisitive looks. 

 

The ex-stormtrooper decides to deflect, “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine.” She obviously isn’t.

 

“The prince?”

 

Rey scoffs a laugh, “How could you have guessed?”

 

“I’m lucky.”

 

She glances towards Poe, then at Finn, who still refuses to turn his head. “Poe piss you off too?”

 

“How could you have guessed?” He replies, hiding a smile.

 

“He’s been staring at you ever since I sat down.”

 

Finn hums, and both fall into a silent moment of companionship, each considering their circumstances.

 

The guests continue trickling into their seats.

 

Rey whispers, “I don’t know how to do this…” Her fingers trail the metal of the cutlery. Someone who was not Finn might have guessed she was implying that she didn’t know how to use her fork and knife, but he knows better. He knows the nerves, the chest tightness, the feeling that everyone sees through you.

 

“The protocol droid forbid me from entering because I was dirty-” she continues. Finn frowns, finding himself being offended on her behalf, “- That I was greasy.”

 

“I know all about that.” He surveys the crowd of what appears to be well-adjusted aliens and humans alike. “Feels like you are just pretending.”

 

A shaky breath escapes her and she nods in agreement. Somehow it comforts him to know he is not alone, and that she is not alone. They can be odd and unadjusted together.

 

Leia takes the head of the table, clapping lightly to get the attention of the crowd. Her voice is easy and cuts through the noise as she greets the Resistance leadership for another evening meal, congratulating them on a productive day and looking forward to further collaboration, before introducing the menu. Finn recognizes the thirty or so people that were present yesterday, all prestigious and dressed in their finest,- making him stand out like a sore thumb in his torn leather jacket and black shirt (having refused the tunic laid out for him on his bed this morning). The cutlery is gold encrusted with gemstones, and exotic wildflowers decorate the table from top to bottom.

 

It is very, very fancy. 

 

Then everyone sits down.

 

And the prince sits right across from Rey, shoving aside a minor lieutenant and snapping that he’ll have to sit somewhere else. 

 

The air around them immediately tenses and he sees Rey grab the fabric of her pants  _ hard _ .

 

Finn is quiet.

 

Ben is quiet.

 

Rey is quiet.

 

And the two just stare at each other, the prince and her, until she suddenly snaps her head to the left, hissing in a whisper,  _ get out.  _ The prince flinches as if struck before slumping in his seat, sulking, his mouth chewing on a thought. 

 

Finn raises his eyebrows at that, but the prince doesn’t see. 

 

Instead he keeps staring at her, opening his mouth, only to close it, then to reopen it. A sound softly escapes him, but is interrupted by the voice of the human addressing Rey, their hand reaching over the table. She takes it.

 

“Admiral Statura, and you are?”

 

“Rey.”

 

“Good to meet you, are new to the Resistance?”

 

“She’s not in the Resistance,” the prince spits while filling a glass with wine. Rey stares daggers at him, pulling her hand back, while she and Finn both decline the server droid. 

 

“Oh, you are not,” the admiral smiles. “A part of Leia’s staff then?”

 

“No.” The prince once agains interrupts, sipping nonchalantly from his cup. Rey glares.

 

Statura is about to reply when the alien next to him barges in and asks him a question. The table is quiet. 

 

Finn sees the prince attempt to open his mouth once more and this time Rey suddenly turns to him. 

 

“Where are you from?”

 

Finn blinks, surprised. She is asking him?

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know?”

 

“I was taken as a child, raised by the First Order. I don’t know where I’m from.”

 

Rey blinks and the almost permanent furrow between her eyebrows softens. The prince frowns, very visibly. 

 

“Your parents...they are alive?” She asks, unsure. 

 

“I don’t know.”

 

A droid swirls around to Finn’s left, placing a bowl of hot soup down and then spins over to Rey, who for a while just stares at her cutlery, puzzled. The prince springs into action and lifts the mirrored spoon from his set, “This one.”

 

She shoots him a pointed look, grabbing the spoon forcefully and devouring the food spitefully. Finn, in solidarity, throws the prince a harsh glance before eating the soup with equally violent determination.

 

The prince grimaces before  _ elegantly _ sipping from his bowl, his gaze dropping, lost in thought. 

 

They are waging war and Finn is not even sure why.

 

Poe still looks at him from time to time.

 

_ “- Casterfo will surely accept a volunteer to his staff, he is very positive about our course,”  _ Statura says to Ben, who looks to regret having to engage in this strategic planning, just muttering small  _ yeses _ and  _ nos _ . 

 

With him distracted and their plates removed in favor of the main course, Finn leans in. “What is going on with you two?”

 

Rey grumbles, “It’s hard to explain.”

 

Finn chews on his cheeks, before letting his desire to help boldy reply, “If you ever need a helping hand, just ask.”

 

Rey whispers, “You’re a stormtrooper.” As if that statement is an answer -- yet it is, how can she trust him? He’s one of the First Order.

 

“I was.”

 

_ “-I think it would make more sense if the volunteer was with my staff, if the volunteer is sourced from my mother's staff,”  _ Ben says in the distance.

 

Rey looks at Finn and he looks at her. A serving of steaming hot food is placed on each plate.

 

“He has the Force,” she murmurs cautiously, eyes flicking between her plate and the prince. Ben hears her, Finn knows, but the prince doesn’t react.

 

As they cut their food the former stormtrooper feels it, the pure unadulterated anger at people being mistreated, at people being subjugated to other’s designs, because wasn’t that what the Force was? A way to simply  _ force _ your will on others, to dictate your every whim?

 

Like the First Order did.

 

“I know how to handle a blaster very well. I can shoot him,” Finn jokes.

 

“I’d like to see you try.”

 

“I managed to shoot myself in the leg once, I have good aim.”

 

Rey spits, sputtering a laugh. Their tablemates frown, but he couldn’t care less. He grins at his own joke and the prince glares but is already caught in another conversation.

 

Then the conversation continues to flow and it is as if Rey and Finn form their own little bubble, reducing the magnificence surrounding them into nothing of importance, reducing the importance of everyone’s ranks to only the two of them.

 

Two outsiders.

 

A defected stormtrooper and a scavenger.

 

Two characters of no importance at a table of utmost importance. 

 

Rey doesn’t want anything from him; if she laughs at his jokes it’s because they are funny. If she smiles at him or is sweet it is because she is so inclined. There’s no ulterior motive, not like everyone else has.

 

What had started out sour becomes bearable, even with the prince persistently trying to engage her in conversation and the vicious stare he gives Finn growing grimmer by the hour.

 

Somehow their easy talking becomes their shield against him and the world, so it doesn’t surprise Finn when at the end of the dessert round, Rey murmurs, her voice insecure: 

 

“I don’t know how to do friends.”

 

“I never had friends either,” Finn responds, confident.

 

Something tugs at the corner of her mouth and she smiles; it’s the brightest smile the former stormtrooper has ever seen on her face, and it suits her. She looks almost glowing, almost as if this is right.

 

Ben stares at them both as their shared trauma begins to manifest into true camaraderie.

 

Rey is Finn’s first friend.

 

*

 

After dinner Rey is escorted to a room stuffed with holos - a library? - and told to wait for Leia. 

 

Rows and rows of shelves line either side of the room, and on both sides there are doors leading to somewhere unknown, but she finds that there are voices coming from the one on her left. The eyes of the people and aliens alike in the framed paintings look at her, judge her, but Rey remains stoic, her hands clasped together in front of her, silently waiting. 

 

The silence stretches on.

 

It keeps stretching for a long time.

 

What had become a fun evening with Finn at her side was now being reduced to the one thing that had given her access to this dinner at all.

 

Her punishment.

 

Finn had looked serious and afraid when, during the rounds of drinks in the parlour afterwards, the guard had stepped up beside her and gently asked her to come with him. Finn had looked like a man who desired nothing more than to shelter her and keep her safe.

 

No one had ever wanted that for her - ever.

 

For the first time in Rey’s solitary existence, she had wanted someone to stay with her. To comfort her as she waited for Leia, and presumably her son, to grace her with their presence.

 

Rey finds that she is growing very tired of all of this - and somehow Han fleeing this suddenly made sense to her. What is the purpose of all of this? Why couldn’t she just fight it out with the senator? Kick his ass and go about her day afterwards.

 

She knows how to do that.

 

She imagines that Han and Chewie would be delighted at the prospect.

 

How could Han have a son so different from himself?

 

The door whizzes open, and the golden protocol droid from earlier enters first (whom Rey still hasn’t forgiven for being a bit too harsh while scrubbing her face), followed by Leia and...the senator.

 

Right, he is dressed in green tonight.

 

Rey’s eyes catch his again and she automatically straightens her back, brushing the dirt off the front of her blouse (to no effect).

 

Leia coughs, unfolding her hands from her stomach. “I suggest we get this over with. Rey, I believe you have something to say to my son.”

 

His gaze doesn’t waver, as if he is trying to read her by impression alone - there’s no prodding her mind this time. Unlike his futile attempt when he had seen her at dinner. How surprised he had looked at seeing her there, how he had imprinted on her - like a desperate young  Guba \- when she entered the room, following her to her designated seat. 

 

She didn’t even need the Force to know the questions he wanted to ask:  _ Why are you here? Why won’t you talk to me? Talk to me. _

 

But Rey was getting better at keeping him out (how, she doesn’t know) and when she had felt the tender prodding at her mind earlier, she had thrown him out violently.

 

That put an end to his secret scrutiny.

 

So now all he could do was use social intelligence to infer her feelings.

 

Serves him right. 

 

Yet, he actually seems skilled at reading her now, attentive. And she knows what he sees is fury, her anger… her nerves.

 

Rey is not sure how to take this. 

 

Leia looks at her expectantly, determined to see this through no matter what.

 

The familiar prickle caresses Rey’s neck, urging her, _do it,_ _this will set things right_.

 

It is not the prickle, though, that spurs her mouth into action, but the recognition that she has promised Leia she would apologize, and she doesn’t intend to punish her role model. And this is the safest way to be able to stay. 

 

Since when was staying even an option?

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Leia nods, satisfied.

 

The senator isn’t, scoffing, “You’re sorry?”

 

Rey blinks, wrinkling her nose, “That’s what I just said.”

 

“And I’m to take you on your word?”

 

_ What? _

 

Leia’s eyebrows rise at her son, who stands, arms folded, no emotion crossing his face. 

 

“ _ My word _ .” The bitterness in Rey’s voice pierces the air. “Ben,” Leia sighs, rolling her eyes. 

 

“I have no inclination to believe anyone solely on words. You will  _ earn _ my forgiveness.”

 

“ _ Your _ forgiveness?!” She is gaping, honestly gaping, at this...this... Poodoo .

 

“That’s what _ I  _ just said.”

 

“I heard you.”  _ Unbelievable, simply unbelievable! _ “- And what about my forgiveness?” she retorts. 

 

“Yours?” A mocking laugh. “Have I violated your privacy?”

 

_ Um, Yes!? _

 

She gawks and turns to Leia, as though silently challenging:  _ What is this?! _ Leia frowns and looks up at her son. “Ben, that was not what we agreed.”

 

“We didn’t agree that you would drag the scavenger to your office and dictate the terms of her punishment. I never consented.”

 

“Consente- I swear to the Force Be-”

 

A knock on the door interrupts them and the head of a tall, pink-haired woman peeks through the now open door. “Leia, a word?”

 

Leia hesitates, ready to verbally reprimand her son, before giving him a stern look. “You stay right here. We are not done,” and then she leaves.

 

Its just them now.

 

And he is blocking her way out.

 

A trembling breath escapes her throat and she takes a step back, fumbling. His eyes search for hers, but she refuses him.

 

So he tries using his words. 

 

“You will come to my office every afternoon, until you have fixed what you have broken.”

 

“I didn’t  _ break _ anything!”

 

“You did.”

 

“I did not. I left everything as it was.”

 

“That’s not how I’d describe a pile of tech on the floor.”

 

Rey shakes her head, exasperated. Why is this happening to her? Her feet take her away from the shelves and to her right, entering a dark seating area where only the moonlight illuminates her path.

 

He follows her. “You will set things right.”

 

That’s it.

 

“Set things right!?” she turns, and he almost crashes into her, were it not for her hand forcefully shoving him back. “- How dare you talk about setting things right, when you - you - you tortured me!?”

 

“It...was  _ unfortunate _ .” His face reveals nothing.

 

“ _ Unfortunate _ . Unfortunate!?”

 

“You attacked me.”

 

“Doesn’t give you any right to ...to violate my mind!”

 

“It was unfortunate, but necessary.”

 

“Necessary my  choobies !” She shoves him once more, but this time he doesn’t give. Instead, he crowds her, stepping right back into her space. Her back hits against a marble pillar. 

 

“Necessary. Just as it was necessary for you to fight me.”

 

“You cheated!”

 

“I...cheated?” His eyebrows rise.

 

“You used the Force! You don’t bring a blaster to a knife fight!”

 

He laughs disbelievingly, but he doesn’t touch her, he just stands there. Rey feels her heart in her throat, throbbing. She tries to swallow, but it’s too tight. This is all too tight a fit - with him so close.

 

“I used the Force, true.” The senator shakes his head, “- But I believe you used the Force  _ too _ .”

 

The prickle in her neck jumps, as if agreeing. Rey murmurs, “ _ No _ ”, avoiding his eyes.

 

“No?  _ No _ ? What do you think you  _ did _ then?”

 

“I didn’t do anything.” 

 

A condescending snort escapes him.

 

“You have the Force.” His dark eyes search hers, but they remain downcast, elusive. “Untrained - but stronger than you know.”

 

“I don’t-”

 

“You do!” 

 

Rey jumps at his tone, flinching. 

 

He stills.

 

And then the only sound in the room is their breaths. Inhaling, exhaling. 

 

_ His hands are so big _ , she suddenly thinks during her valiant attempt at ignoring him, her eyes catching the sight of his ungloved hands fisting at his sides. The green tunic looks blue in the darkness of the library. 

 

She hears him swallow.

 

“I could show you the ways of Force.” His voice is gentle, so unlike anything else.

 

“I could show you the way of my kriffing fist.” Her heart slams against her chest, her hands feel clammy - she’s  _ afraid _ she might have overstepped her bounds.  _ Afraid _ what he might do.

 

He grimaces, almost as if he heard her thoughts, “Why are you afraid?”

 

“You kriffing invaded my mind!”

 

“I needed to know what you saw.”

 

“So it's true then. What I heard! What I saw on that holo,” she whispers angrily, eyes flicking to his, giving in to his taunts. “You support the First Order!? You are betraying your own mother!”

 

He rolls his eyes,”My mother is not always right.”

 

“So it’s true!?”

 

“True?” he snorts, pausing for a second, before leaning in just a bit. “Do you want it to be true?” His gaze drops to her lips and she sees his throat bob as he swallows.

 

She narrows her eyes, puzzled. “Why do you hate your mother?” spitting the words into his face.

 

“I don’t hate her.”

 

Rey straightens her back, challenging him. “Then why?”

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why are you supporting the First Order?”

 

Something flashes in his eyes and they grow dark, and she can feel the heat of his body as he leans in even closer, placing a large hand next to her head, his long fingers curling around the stone of the column. She examines it, unintentionally, gazing at the white skin and well-groomed nails.

 

She sees him notice.

 

“You tell me.”

 

“Tell you what?”  _ Where did all the air go? _ she thinks, as her chest rises rapidly -  _ did the ventilation give out? Was it the gener- _

 

“You seem to know me so well. To truly know my mind. So tell me,” his left eye tics, “Why am I supporting the First Order?”

 

Her mouth falls open, did he...did he just admit to it? She was right. Oh god. Rey was right. And Leia doesn’t know - she doesn’t want to know. 

 

“You’re a monster!” She growls. Her fingers yearn for her staff, for her blaster. She wants to shoot him straight in his smug face. 

 

He looks - hurt? 

 

“You want to kill me? Knowing nothing about me?” Something shimmers in his eyes, dark brown like the pits of a sand cave. “You attacked me  _ first _ .”

 

“Someone had to stop you!”

 

“From what?”

 

“Ruining the entire galaxy.”

 

A laugh escapes him and she can feel the ghost of his breath across her forehead. “I hardly think that comes down to just one man.”

 

She tries to shove him once more, but he is unmovable. Her hands dig into his fine shirt, hoping it rips. “Let me go!”

 

“I can train you. You could be so powerful - more powerful than you can imagine - you could seek justice from everyone who wronged you - even your parents.”

 

“My parents didn’t wrong me! And I don’t need your power.” She shoves him again.

 

“Everyone needs power.”

 

“Not from you!”

 

The light in the living room flickers before turning on, and the senator takes a step back. Their locked gaze never breaks.

 

“Ben?” Leia’s voice calls.

 

Rey’s chest heaves, but she feels better now that he is not crowding her space. She can think. Just then Leia rounds the corner.

 

“I’m sorry it took so long. I’m glad to see you haven’t killed each other. Have you resolved this?”

 

Rey frowns, and before she even manages to open her mouth, the senator announces, “Rey will come to my office every afternoon until she has fixed the comm.”

 

“Is that really necessary?” The princess complains.

 

“My property, my demands. She has already agreed.” His eyes snap to hers, almost expecting her to reject his announcement. Daring her to challenge him. 

 

Two can play this game.

 

And then she says something that surprises even her, “I have.”

  
  


*

 

_ That night Rey dreams about lightsabers. _

 

_ She dreams about blasters. _

 

_ She dreams about starships. _

 

_ She dreams about tears trailing down her cheeks. _

 

_ She dreams that Ben breaks her heart. _

 

_ She dreams that she loves him. _

 

_ She dreams that she hates him. _

 

_ She dreams that she kills him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**
> 
> [adesote](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Adesote_fabric)
> 
> [choobies](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/List_of_phrases_and_slang/Legends#C) : Vulgar term for oneself or one's rear end
> 
> [Convor](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Convor)
> 
> [Guba](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Guba)
> 
> [Hutt-spawn](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/List_of_phrases_and_slang/Legends#C)
> 
> [Poodoo](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/List_of_phrases_and_slang/Legends#C) : A Huttese term meaning "fodder," a coarse type of food for livestock. Used often as a swear word


	9. Chapter 9: This is the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of this makes semantic and literal sense, it is only due to the gracious presence of [ alpha reader Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder) and [ beta reader Blessmycircuits!](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits)

_ Chapter 9 - This is the end. _

 

Poe is watching Finn and Rey talking outside.

 

He isn’t watching them intentionally, he’s not one to pry, but it's hard to not let his gaze wander from his seat at the galaxy’s most boring meeting, which he is currently attending.

 

They are discussing budgets.

 

Poe doesn’t care a lot about budgets.

 

And the window is like, right next to him. Who can blame him for being more interested in Finn talking to Rey? Who can blame him for frowning at them laughing and bonding at dinner last night? Who can blame him,  _ really _ ?

 

Poe runs a hand across the stubble on his cheek, contemplating Finn’s moody disposition. The ex-stormtrooper had run from the First Order, which meant he had obviously  _ disliked  _ what the First Order was doing (he had told Poe that much). And he had obviously thought it worth coming to the Resistance to give them intel, because he had followed Poe.

 

Then why was he so hesitant?

 

Why was he hostile?

 

Poe scowls, his eyes tracking how Rey playfully shoves Finn by the shoulder, laughing. The sun is out today and he can imagine how nice it would be to sit outside, letting it warm your skin, feel the tan start to color you.

 

Are they telling jokes?

 

Are they sharing funny stories?

 

Are they growing...close?

 

“Poe!” The voice of Vice Admiral Holdo reverberates from the other end of the table. It breaks his daydream and his hand falls from his face - ungracefully - with a  _ thump _ . 

 

“What?” 

 

“Did you hear a word of what we just said? Do you have the expenses for  Black Squadron ?”

 

Poe blushes, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks - this is something he  _ rarely  _ does, he’s not a  _ blusher  _ \- before he quickly brings forth the datapad to retrieve the necessary information.

 

Poe dislikes budgets.

 

*

 

A stone skips across the still lake.

 

It skips four times before falling to the bottom of the lake.

 

A wild cheer echoes from the dark, sandy banks and another stone hurls along the brittle surface. It skips four times before it too descends into the murky depths.

 

“See!” Rey shouts, as she takes another pebble from Finn’s hand roughly and throws it sideways. She’s a natural. Finn smiles, grins actually, feeling pride at how quickly she catches on, how easily she takes the stones and made them skip.

 

It reminds him of some of the good times in the First Order, like that time during a mission on  Da'nor when his comrade  FN-2003 (“Slip”)  showed him how to skip pebbles across the hydrogen ocean. It had left him with a giddy feeling. Even with their helmets on, he could almost see  Slip’s  ivory white teeth pull into a wide mouthed grin. The mere thought of it gave him butterflies in his stomach. He too had been proud of FN21 - Finn - he was proud of Finn - just like Finn was beaming with pride for Rey.

 

His first friend. 

 

Another stone flies through the air, only to plummet through the surface immediately with a mocking ‘plop’. 

 

“Oi!”

 

“It was too round, it needs more like a-” he bends down, picking from the variety of stones scattered about, “- a more flat one. Like this!” He grabs it from the heap, displaying it to her, and without even looking at it, she pulls it violently from his hand and skips it ecstatically.

 

One, two, three, four...five!

 

“Yes!”

 

“Hah! Wow. You think you can hit six?”

 

“I could try!” 

 

He nods, and gives Rey the pile of rocks, just as he sees her brow furrow. “What is it?”

 

“I have to go.”

 

He takes a pebble from her hand and throws it. “Where?” Hesitant, anxious about what she means by it. Like... _ forever _ ?

 

“To Ben Solo’s office.”

 

Finn  _ grimaces _ . “Why?”

 

She shifts the pile of rocks around in her hand, feeling their rough texture against her palm, letting them rattle. “I broke something of his, he wants me to fix it.” 

 

The surface of the lake breaks as a western wind blows in from the mountains, rippling the water, tracing secret patterns. It’s a mild wind but the weather is lovely and temperate today. Nothing like the three days of swirling skies, rain, sun, and wind, that has graced Finn’s presence since he arrived. 

 

Somehow getting to know Rey has changed things substantially.

 

Like the sun has finally come out from behind the clouds.

 

“Rey, can I ask you something?” he gently prods, heedful of how to approach this.

 

Her hazel eyes meet his and they shimmer slightly, as if she is struggling to not tear up, and she hums an affirmative. Finn inhales deeply.

 

“What’s the deal with you and the prince?”

 

The stones clatter against each other in her hands as she grimaces. “It’s complicated.”

 

He toes a slightly larger rock, considering how to say what he wants to say -

 

“Is he ...hurting you?” 

 

She inhales, voice breaking.

 

Then carefully whispers, “No. But he tried to...once.”

 

“Rey…”

 

She stops him with a shake of her head, eyes wide. “No, no! It’s fine. I kicked his ass.” 

 

Rey tries to smile, but he sees it, the unpleasantness hiding underneath. The reluctance, the unease. 

 

Finn leans in a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Rey - do you need help?”

 

A pause, then a sudden blink of the eye, and her smile falters. Her gaze drops to the pebbles, turning them once in her palm, before closing her fist. An exhale, an inhale.

 

“Finn?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Have you...seen him before? In the First Order?”

 

Finn puts his hands in his pockets, contemplating. He mulls over the prince’s face, trying to discern if he is familiar, other than from the multiple holos they were shown of their enemies, of populist politicians. 

 

He finds nothing.

 

“I ...don’t think so.”  

 

He kicks the dirt in front of him with a certain bitterness. “I was mostly stationed in the Outer Rim - doing low-level maintenance jobs. If he met with them, it wouldn’t be my rank that would be present and it would probably be on Hosnian Prime or something...”

 

Rey sighs, understanding. “Yeah, I...had to try.”

 

“Rey?”

 

“Yeah?” She doesn’t look at him.

 

“What do you know?”

 

She shrugs, but he senses her careful tone. “Not enough.”

 

He repeats it. “Not enough.” 

 

That seems like the general condition of his life so far. Not knowing enough. Not having enough. Not being enough.

 

FN21 - Finn! -  _ sighs _ , feeling like he wants to comfort her, wants to save her, but doesn’t really know how. They really don’t know each other that well, but maybe...just...maybe, she’d flee with him. Escape to somewhere far away. Live a comfortable life.

 

He thinks Rey would be a great companion to run away with - resourceful, smart, persistent,  _ brave _ .

 

He thinks he could be a good travel buddy too. He is  _ funny _ …maybe. Poe had laughed at some of his jokes when they traveled to Birren. Yeah, he’s funny,  Slip  had said that too. 

 

They deserve a peaceful and comfortable life.

 

Which is not the life the Resistance is offering.

 

Nor the life Jakku is promising.

 

“They want me to go to Hosnian Prime,” he blurts.

 

“Hosnian Prime?” Rey asks, curious - cautious - is she thinking the same thing? That she doesn’t want him to go, that she wants him to stay. 

 

No one has wanted him to stay before. 

 

His chest expands in a deep and giddy inhale. Finn is beaming.

 

“Yeah, they need more people spying on the politicians there, someone within the staff - the politicians apparently only get so far.”

 

“And...they want you to go?”

 

He nods. “Apparently my ‘inside’ knowledge is worth a lot. I would know who is who.” Rey frowns, shrugging and shoving her hands into her trousers, dropping the stones into her pockets.

 

“And - you’ll go?”

 

“Over my dead body”, he scoffs. Rey snorts, giggling. “Okay.”

 

“Okay.”

 

He treads closer to the shore, reaching down to inspect the stones. he follows him, sitting close by, going through the stones in sync with him. They make light jokes and laugh tenderly as they keep trying to skip the stones further and further. 

 

Even in the short breaks they were allowed in the First Order, he never felt this peaceful, this happy.

 

“Ms. Rey!”

 

Both stiffen at the sound of the droid calling her name - had time passed that quickly? Finn remains crouched, looking over his shoulder, while Rey, always the brave one, stands and straightens her back. 

 

“Master Solo is waiting for you.”

 

Finn takes a careful look at her, how she tenses at the name and draws in a shaky breath before steeling herself. She bids him a brief goodbye before marching confidently back to the palace.

 

Rey would really be a good companion in the Outer Rim.

 

Next time he’ll ask her.

  
  


*

 

The sun is still somewhat high in the sky when Rey enters the office. The balcony door is open, letting in the fresh afternoon air. A light breeze rattles the curtains. 

 

“Rey.” The senator looks up from his chair, datapad in his hand, eyes wide.

 

Is he... _ surprised _ ?

 

A grimace pulls on her mouth and she frowns at him, before indignantly replying, “Senator.”

 

He blinks, drawing in a breath, before hastily rising from his seat - only  _ to trip  _ on the leg of the coffee table, effectively spilling the entire contents of the cup of caf that had been resting on its surface. 

 

“Kriff, sorry,” he murmurs, leaning over to try to salvage the mess, but to no avail. It drips down to the floor and onto a very  _ white _ and very  _ expensive _ carpet. 

 

A groan escapes his throat and he stands to his full height,  _ sulking _ , his mouth chewing on a thought.

 

Rey just stays still, one eyebrow raised, watching his hulking form try to regain some dignity as he summons a cleaning droid. 

 

Yet, somehow his display of… _ humanity _ ...diffuses most of the tension she feels in her body and she allows herself to look around the room. This is her first time seeing it in broad daylight.

 

It looks both different and the same - it feels...homey? Clean and perfectly made up - but there are small details - a sweater thrown on the couch, datapads piling up on the desk, and the leftover plate from what must have been his lunch, still unfetched by a droid - that make it feel lived in. Like it’s someone’s space.

 

He places his  _ new _ comm back into his pocket, grumbling to himself, and takes the sweater and uses it to soak up the caf from the table. “Sorry” 

 

Rey feels a pang of anger fill her chest at his ability to apologize for the caf, but not the intrusion of her mind, so she spits out, “Let's just get this over with,” while hoisting her bag of tools over her shoulder. 

 

He looks up suddenly, eyes wide and perplexed, before seeming to realize that she actually came to do something. 

 

“Yes, yes. Let me just-” he stops, moving quickly to his desk, gracelessly removing its contents, leaving it bare for her tools. 

 

Rey glances at him, trying to figure out what it is exactly she has walked into. He fidgets and rubs his neck, allowing her to notice how his hair is shiny and  _ perfectly  _ curled and the shirt he is wearing is tight, really showing off hi- then he catches her gaze. 

 

She blurts out, “ _ What _ ?” 

 

His throat bobs. 

 

Something’s off about him - the smugness and air of aloofness from the previous evening has dissipated into something shy, unsure - like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do. 

 

Bishwag. 

 

The senator watches her for a moment before silently presenting the table to her and carefully placing the broken comm on the desk.

 

Adjusting the strap on her back, she hurries to the chair and places the bag on it before pulling out the tools, one after the other. 

 

He stays quiet. Solemn. Observing her.

 

“Please don’t do that.”

 

“Do what?” He seems genuinely clueless. 

 

“Just stand there, I won’t be able to focus.” She removes the bag and places herself into his leather seat, hoping she’ll stain it with grease or something. He’d deserve it. Pretentious  barv .

 

“Ah, right. I-” he looks around, points to his chair “- I’ll sit over there.”

 

“You do that,” she mumbles, starting to pick apart the comm. He nods and sulks back.

 

And then the silence begins.

 

A droid enters at some point, cleans the carpet and table of coffee, removes the leftover dishes, and leaves. She sees the senator fidget, his attention not really on the datapad in front of him, continuously sneaking glances at her - Rey knows this because she does the same. 

 

She tells herself she does it mostly because the comm is so badly damaged (she is convinced he must have ruined it himself), and she has no idea where to even  _ begin _ . She doesn’t even  _ want to _ begin. She wants to skip stones with Finn and not sit here with this little -  _ huge _ \- prick of a man.

 

But she tries, because she wants to get out of here, and settles on picking it apart piece by piece. She groans when she sees the damage, mumbling profanities to herself. Rey is restless, eager to get it over with, and that’s when she notices...

 

The air is heavy with something (how strange), like someone is contemplating something, scrutinizing the whole situation,  _ how to approach - how to-  _

 

“Do you like it here?” his dark voice rumbles, finger flicking across the screen.

 

“What?” she shoots back.

 

“Do you like it here?” 

 

Her hand that is holding the satellite amplification stills and she narrows her eyes at him, trying to determine what he is getting at.

 

“It’s ...fine.”

 

“Good.”

 

She gives him no reply and starts to twist the copper wires together again.

 

“You are from Jakku, right?”

 

“Yes,” she growls. “You  _ saw _ that. When you were in my mind,  _ remember _ ?”

 

“I did.” His mouth twists, “Tell me about it.”

 

"It's a type 1 planet, with a standard rotation of 26,8 standard ho-"

 

“I am not here to take a class on planetary physics.”

 

_ Rey audibly groans.  _

 

“What are you here to do, anyway? Make everyone miserable?”

 

He exhales, “You’re my guest”

 

_ What does that even mean? _

 

“A very miserable one at that, so I’d opt to not be one.”

 

“So you’d rather sit here in silence?”

 

"Frankly, I'd rather sit in bantha dung." 

 

_ Was that a smile forming on his lips? - Was he finding her amusing? Was he finding her dumb? _

 

Rey thinks  _ he  _ is dumb. 

 

Trying to avoid his burning need for her attention, she returns to the comm. The interframe is burned, she’ll have to get a new one or rewire one - it’ll take days, longer than she’d like. She takes a datapad from her bag, leaning sideways over the chair to reach - only to notice his feet slowly stepping closer to her. Her eyes travel up his form, he’s frowning ...or smiling? Smug bastard.

 

“Rey.”

 

“ _ What _ ?” 

 

“You’re upset.”

 

“Crude observation.”

 

“Why?” His eyes are dark, so dark - like his hair.

 

“Because I want to finish this, get out, and then go home - and you are being very demanding and time consuming.”

 

“Home? Jakku?”

 

“Yes, Jakku.”

 

He snorts, crossing his arms, “You want to go home to  _ Jakku _ ?”

 

She throws the datapad back into the bag and rises to her full height. “And what is it to you?”

 

The senator never falters, instead his gaze travels across her face, taking her in. He makes an annoyed face - she knows he wants to sense her thoughts, but he also knows how well it’ll go if he tries. 

 

“You’re an enigma.”

 

“And you’re an entitled  Dweezer. ”

 

He blinks, his expression blank - before breaking into a wild laugh, all teeth,  _ white _ , pearly and slightly crooked. She swallows. He’s mocking her, teasing her. 

 

“Now -  _ that  _ I haven’t been called before.”

 

“Entitled?”

 

“No,” he huffs, then places his hands on his hips, inflating his chest. His gaze turns toward the ceiling. “But I have also been called worse.”

 

Of course he has, and now he’s trying to deflect. 

 

“Senat-” she growls.

 

“ _ Ben _ .”

 

“What?”

 

“You can call me by name.”

 

“Or I could call you - what was it?  _ Kylo Ren _ ?”

 

The humour leaves him and his smile falters. 

 

“Rey…” He tries, but she stops him.

 

“Just quit it.” Waving her hands in front of her face, she carries on. “Let’s just stop this. I’m tired, my head still hurts from whatever you did before.” He grimaces, yet she continues, “I’ll fix your comm, and you’ll stop pestering me. Whatever it is you are doing  _ just _ \- switch off.”

 

Ben is quiet. He moves his mouth, looking like a thousand possible scenarios are playing through his head, but the only thing that emerges eventually is a defeated sigh. 

 

He retreats to his chair, grumbling. 

 

Somewhat pleased, Rey returns to fixing the comm. She ignores the guilty feeling in the back of her mind and instead transforms it into a burning determination, a desire to get out of this room as fast as possible.

 

Fast doesn’t happen, but she eventually does leave his room when the butler droid arrives to dress the senator for the evening (that is a thing?), and he tells her to be back again same time tomorrow.

 

And that’s how the next three days pass.

 

She wakes up, eats breakfast with the crew, works on the Falcon, walks around the grounds with Finn (who still won’t talk to Poe) and then goes to the senator’s office. Leia is off world and that appears to give him some leverage in torturing her. Each session begins much in the same way, except he has changed tactics, and instead of antagonizing her with provoking questions, he begins to ask her more...subtle things. 

 

And she refuses to acknowledge their sincerity.

 

“What do you like to eat?” 

"Food."

 

“Have we met before? I think I recognize you?” 

“Maybe in a nightmare.”

 

“Where did you learn to weld?” 

“Only the best private tutors."

 

“Can I get you something to drink?” 

“Poison.”

 

“If you could go anywhere, where would you go?” 

“Jakku.”

 

“Have you always known you’ve had the Force?”

 

She  _ pauses _ , almost finished, and lifts her head to peer at him. 

 

He still sits in his chair, but unlike the other times he asks her stuff, he actually looks at her. His gaze is intense, but there’s no malice, only curiosity.

 

Placing the screwdriver softly on the table, she leans forward, folding her hands. “Have  **_you_ ** always known?” It's the first question she has asked him, the first time she has seemed interested, and he looks genuinely astounded - mouth slightly open, a cup of caf resting against his full lips. 

 

She meant to ask the question in a mocking manner, but realises she actually wants to know. If she has the Force - should she have been able to feel it...always?

 

Lifting her eyebrows in a prodding motion, she gestures with her hand for him to go on. 

 

He places the cup on the saucer. 

 

“Yes,” he tentatively replies.

 

Rey nods and returns to the comm, signalling that the conversation is over. What else is there to know? She has not felt it forever, therefore she doesn’t know the Force...

 

“Rey?”

 

“Hm?” 

 

“You didn’t answer.”

 

“What?”

 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

 

She pauses and thinks. Long and hard. She reaches only one conclusion. “I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know?”

 

“How can I know, if I’m not sure what it is supposed to feel like? I don’t even know what the Force is supposed to feel like now.”

 

Something eerie crosses his face and she can sense it, so clearly, how he longs to show her, to let her discover the Force, to let her grow and become powerful -  _ oh so powerful.  _ It’s like she just knows he is about to ask her again to allow him to teach her, so she is quick to stop him. 

 

And opts to distract him. 

 

“What’s that thing you have in your room?”

 

He blinks, “Thing?”

 

“The pyramid thing. What is it?”

 

Silence.

 

Oh, so now he won’t answer her? That’s  _ rich _ .

 

“What is it?” she asks firmly. 

 

His chest rises and falls, and then he stands. This time he doesn’t trip and the slightly playful attitude he has had towards her ever since their encounter on the bridge falls away, revealing a serious and somber man - a man you do not want to mess with.

 

But Rey is so young and this is a lesson she has not yet learned.

 

“It is not for you.”

 

“What is it.” It’s no longer a question, it is a demand. Her hands clench around her tools, letting his grave mood influence hers. Two can play that game.

 

“No.”

 

“What is all of  _ this _ ?” she snaps. “You can ask questions, but you can’t answer them? You spend days poking at me, interrogating me, and you can’t answer one thing for me?!.”

 

He steps towards her, tall and dark and wide.

 

“Forget it.”

 

“Forget it - forget it!? I can never forget it -”

 

“You will.” His voice is low, deep, and commanding. “You will forget it Rey.” 

 

There it is again, the prodding at her mind, the urge, the need to get in, to fix something, to make her forget.

 

Like hell she’ll let him. 

 

She walks straight up to him, stopping just so they are almost chest to chest. She stares daggers at him before hissing, “ _ What. Is. It.” _

 

He huffs, he just...huffs, before leaning in, their faces almost touching, his breath ghosting across her face and for a brief moment...their eyes momentarily fall to each other’s lips. 

 

_ His soft, plump, pink lips.  _

 

She feels her chest rise and fall quickly (in anger?) and then he whispers, almost lost to her ears from the roaring of her blood, to her fury.

 

“You’d have to fight me for it.”

 

Her hazel eyes snap to his and with no hesitance in her voice, she replies, “I will kick your ass.”

 

“Then show me.”

  
  


*

 

Ben leads her outside to a sandy patch of land, which he tells her offhand was installed by his mother for him to train on. Rey is not sure why he’s talking to her like this will just be a friendly sparring match, because from the way the blood courses through her veins, Rey is going for the kill. 

 

He digs out two staves from a store, wryly commenting that he knows she prefers to fight this way.

 

That makes something roar in her, because he would only know that by having used the Force on her memories. He’d only know by violating her mind. 

 

That Gartal.

 

Her hands clench around the staff. She feels undisciplined next to him - he begins to jump up and down, readying himself, warming up his body - while she merely stands still.

 

He learned to fight from a teacher. Rey has learned to fight through survival. 

 

He has learned technique, she has learned efficiency. 

 

The mere knowledge of his privilege heats her skin with an angry flush, and she tries to channel her focus. Kicking the dirt at her feet, frowning.

 

She sees him look at her as the blood colors his skin as well, making it rosy. She doesn’t even need to pry at his mind to know he is thinking about her again, the way he looks her over, probably amused by her lack of skill. Wondering why she isn’t preparing herself.

 

Dipshit . 

 

Then he takes his shirt off.

 

Rey swallows, grasping the staff even tighter.

 

His skin is pale, but even through the black tank top, she sees that he is not a prince in the traditional sense, but a fighter - a man taught to hurt, to win. His wide frame expands as he breathes in, girding himself.

 

It makes her resent him. 

 

Rey is so resentful lately.

 

If only Han had never come to Jakku.

 

They move to sand pit and he swings the staff with brute elegance, his eyes never leaving her form. Is he trying to impress her?  _ Well, it won’t work on her.  _

 

She clasps her staff with both hands and spreads her legs into an opening stance (or what she thinks could count as one) and straightens her back. He does so too, dropping one leg backwards and moving the rod behind his back. His free hand extends towards her.

 

“Until first blood?”

 

Her voices quivers slightly, but she nods. “First blood.”

 

Come to think of it, Rey has never sparred. Rey has always  _ fought _ . Fought for food, fought for scraps of Star Destroyers, fought for life - she doesn’t know how to hold back. She charges.

 

And she uses her fury to fuel that charge.

 

With a violent thrust of her staff she swings it against his. 

 

They clack. He blocks. 

 

She twirls, throwing it against his back, he blocks again. 

 

Against his shoulder, another block. 

 

Against his shins, another block.

 

Against his face, he blocks and pushes her staff down to the ground, and with the back of his lands a hit on her back. 

 

_ Hard _ .

 

“Ah!” She yells, pulling away, straightening her shoulder blades to alleviate the burn. 

 

“You need to look at my hands, not the staff.”

 

Ignoring his (solid) advice, she leaps, trying to use her size and speed to outmaneuver him. He stops blocking and instead steps out of her way, avoiding her blows - and all she manages to hurt is the air and the ground.

 

It  _ pisses _ her off.

 

He hits the back of her knee and she collapses to the ground. The pain stings and so do the  tears.

 

“Get up.” He commands.

 

She tries ungracefully to kick his ankle from the ground, but he merely pulls away, scoffing - giving her a  _ ‘really? _ ’ look. He grabs her right ankle tightly, holding the staff loosely in his other hand.

 

Oh, how he  _ loves _ to play the teacher. 

 

Kriffing Lurdo.

 

“You need to keep your heels on the ground, I can easily flip you if you are on your toes too much.”

 

“I can flip you something else!” She pulls back violently to free her foot, but with every attempt his grip tightens. 

 

Ben raises his eyebrows in amusement, a smile tugging on his lips.

 

He is toying with her.

 

Her anger simmers.

 

Without much grace, she finally breaks the hold, slamming her staff to the ground and then aimlessly throwing it at him.

 

Fighting has never been something that has come effortlessly to her. She has always found her body too heavy, her limbs too short or head too distracted - and this is no different. While she knows how to move the staff efficiently, she moves at him with brute force rather than strategy.

 

He sees through it all. 

 

He hits her across her arm and she yelps, trying to block him, but he pokes the staff hard into her shoulder, forcing her backwards.

 

And what started out being a battle between two equals has now become Rey circling the pit to avoid getting within his reach. 

 

He taps his own shoulder, slightly out of breath, “You’re holding the staff wrong.”

 

“I am not.”

 

His eyes roll and he breathes, exasperated. “Use the Force.”

 

“Use the Force? Are you even hearing yourself?”

 

“You must feel it. Let it guide you.”

 

The prickle begins to hum. She draws her shoulders back, trying to get rid of it. “No.”

 

Another scoff. “Suit yourself.” And then he charges.

 

He’s a violent storm, not fast, but his swings are dramatic, artistic, yet also efficient. She finds that she can barely block his hits and with little grace scarcely avoids tripping over her feet as he pushes her closer and closer to the edge of the ring.

 

All that can be heard is their quick, heavy breaths and the sound of wood hitting on wood repeatedly, fast and  _ hard _ . 

 

He’s holding back - but he’s only barely restrained. (Somehow that thought gets filed somewhere deep. Somewhere secret.) He’s not a guy who holds back.

 

It angers her.

 

So, so much. 

 

It consumes her, like a fire blazing across a field, fueled by the wind.

 

He sees it and smirks “Yes! That’s it!”

 

She is giving her all and he’s just...playing with her!

 

“Surrender to it!”

 

A rich boy playing with a new toy, something that fascinates him now, but when he is done he will throw her away like garbage!

 

“Use-!”

 

_ Crunch _ !

 

She punches him.

 

Her left hand connects with his cheek hard and loud.

 

And he drops the staff to the ground with a thud.

 

He halts, covering his mouth with his palm, eyes closed. 

 

Rey’s hand throbs. Stings. 

 

And she hesitates - just for a moment.

 

Apparently he knows how to fight like he was taught.

 

But he’s not used to brawling.

 

It seems.

 

She draws the aching hand back to her, watching him.

 

He removes his palm from his lips, now painted lush red from fresh bleeding. His gloved hands flex as he watches the blood trail patterns over the leather. And then he looks at her.

 

She expects him to be pissed off, violent, furious.

 

Instead he stares at her with a sense of... _ admiration _ ,  _ bewilderment _ , and _...determination? _

 

A breath escapes her throat involuntarily. 

 

Without a word his hand reaches for the staff and it flies to his palm - the first time she has actually  _ seen _ the Force physically in use. 

 

She takes two steps back, still clutching her staff.

 

They agreed to stop at first blood, but neither does anything to stop their not-so-friendly sparring match. Instead they reposition themselves, tightening their holds on the wooden staffs - hearing them creak under their hands. 

 

And then they attack.

 

But this time it's different.

 

The prickle is everywhere, all over, and the adrenaline in her body and the speed of his counterattacks don’t allow her to ignore it. No, instead she lets it guide her, lets it move her limbs and things are now…

 

...so different.

 

It feels like a dance. Like an intimate shared moment. And if one lays a blow on the other, it is only because something distracts them - like the growing crowd of people watching them. 

 

Was the prickle the Force?

 

Had she, like Ben, felt it forever? Had it been her ever-present companion?

 

Then why was it trying to lead her astray?

 

It’s hard to think any thought through to its end though, because he stops holding back - he sweats and pants as much as she does now and their attacks keep getting blocked by the other, like they are finally equals.

 

Her foot twists in the sand and she moves under his arm as he attempts to push her to the ground.

 

Rey has never been able to do that.

 

But it feels like she always knew this. Like she has been...taught this. Like thousands of secret doors have opened in her mind. 

 

Like memories that are hers, but...also not?

 

Ben stares at her momentarily, confused, but they are too into this to linger. Too into getting rid of this thing between them. 

 

Rey lands a blow to his bicep only for him to viciously grab her wrist, holding it tight, his fighting hand ready to throw a punch at her.

 

She grabs his other wrist too, locking them both together.

 

They twirl around each other.

 

His lip is still bleeding, dripping onto the sand.

 

Her right hand is aching, her strength no match for his.

 

But her agility makes up for it.

 

The prickle pushes, and she lets go of his hand and in a swift movement, slamming the end of the staff up.

 

_ Marking his face. _

 

He cries out and falls to the ground.

 

Instinct takes over and she raises her staff above him, prepared to strike the finishing blow! Yelling, “Ah!”.

 

And then... he turns to look at her - one hand clutching the right side of his face, the other fumbling to get up from the traitorous sand.

 

She freezes, staff still raised above her head. 

 

Someone shouts something in the background, she thinks, but all she can make sense of is how warm she feels under his puzzled scrutiny of her.

 

She feels proud. She feels safe. She feels like she showed him, finally showed him.

 

And he doesn’t even look angry. He doesn’t look like he is disappointed. He doesn’t look like he wants to hurt her.

 

He looks like he has never seen anything as divine as her.

 

She shivers.

  
  


*

 

The medbay is white, sterile and very, very uncomfortable. 

 

_ Who decides to buy med beds harder than stone? _ Rey thinks as she tries to sit perfectly still so the med droid can more easily apply bacta to her knuckles and her face.

 

Her shoulders are stiff and aching and she thinks her ribs might be slightly bruised.

 

They really went at it, didn’t they?

 

Slightly embarrassed that she lost control that much, Rey shifts in her seat, only for the droid to lecture her harshly.

 

Ben’s dark voice echos from behind a curtain next to her, “Not a good patient I hear?”

 

“I hope you scar,” she light-heartedly retorts, a small smile growing.

 

A snort escapes him. Even after getting the shit beaten out of him, he still likes to tease her. “You’re in luck, the medic says we applied the bacta too late.”

 

“What?” A heavy stone lands in her belly and for the first time since the adrenaline wore off, she is faced with repercussions that are not to her or her own body.

 

The droid moves away with bloodied bandages and Rey uses the opportunity to jump from the bed and go to the one next to hers. Not knowing what to expect, she pulls aside the curtain.

 

Ben is lying on his back, looking towards her, the right part of his face covered in bacta patches. He is gonna have a pretty black eye. He smirks.

 

The pinch in her heart is replaced with humorous annoyance. And something like shyness overtakes her and she begins to fumble with the curtain, never crossing the threshold into his space. 

 

“You’ll live,” she attempts to joke. “The medic told me so.”

 

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

 

“You deserved it.”

 

“Probably.”

 

She nods, looking around the room for...something.

 

“Rey.”

 

“Hm?”  _ They have a bacta tank - how neat. _

 

“You did well today.”

 

_ She did well _ . Why does that comment make her regret everything all over again? How does he have the ability to make her forget everything? Why she came? Why she was in his room in the first place?

 

Why he is her enemy?

 

Why does that reminder make her sad?

 

She sighs.

 

“Senator.” Their gazes meet, brown eyes on hazel. Her hand tightens on the synthetic fabric.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are we done now?”

 

“Done?”

 

“I finished your comm. Can I go now?”

 

A pause. He shifts slightly on the bed before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side. “Where are you going?”

 

The question is loaded, even though at first glance it’s pretty straightforward. How she knows, she is unsure, but deep within her soul, she hears the true question.

 

_ Are you leaving Birren? _

 

Why does that concern him? What is all of that to him?

 

Rey shrugs. At this point she doesn’t really know what she is doing, where she is going - she honestly just wants to go to her room and sleep off the aches and bruises. 

 

He appears to have different ideas about what is supposed to happen, because with a inquisitive and teasing voice he says, “You don’t want to know about the Holocron?”

 

“Holocron?”

 

“I told you you’d have to fight me for the information - and you won. I believe you’ve earned the right.” 

 

His eyes are burning, hot on her skin. Silent, but not inattentive, like he is dying to tell her, dying to involve her, dying to let her discover the secrets he knows.

 

It unsettles her.

 

“I’m good.”

 

“So you do not want to claim your reward? Or has your mind settled on  _ another  _ prize?”

 

Prize?

 

This is not about a prize!

 

With an audible groan, she pushes her face into the curtain, pulling at the seams. “You’re impossible.”

 

“I’m particular.”

 

“Same thing.”

 

“Fine. I don’t  _ want  _ to know. I don’t  _ want  _ to get more in trouble and I don’t  _ want  _ your prize.” Her eyes sting and she hides her face in the fabric, staining it with her freshly dried blood. Marking it. Telling the world that this happened today - they cannot erase it, make it clean and white like the walls around them. 

 

She hears the linen on the bed shift, indicating that he is slowly rising from the bed, like he is intending to approach her - to comfort her. Quickly she blinks the tears away and steps back, trying to put some distance between them.

 

“Just...don’t.”

 

A beat or two passes and she stares hard at her shoes, shoulders tensed for when he inevitably comes near her.

 

It both excites and unnerves her.

 

But he doesn’t step closer, standing still some distance away. And after what seems like several hundred years, he hoarsely replies. 

 

“Okay.”

 

Nodding again, she avoids his gaze and flees the room.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**
> 
> [barv](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/List_of_phrases_and_slang/Legends#C)
> 
> [Black squadron](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Black_Squadron_\(Resistance\))
> 
> [Bishwag](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/List_of_phrases_and_slang/Legends#C)
> 
> [Da'nor ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Da'nor)
> 
> [Dweezer](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/List_of_phrases_and_slang/Legends#C)
> 
> [FN-2003 (“Slip”)](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/FN-2003C)
> 
> [Gartal](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/List_of_phrases_and_slang/Legends#C)
> 
> [Lurdo](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/List_of_phrases_and_slang/Legends#C)


	10. Chapter 10: Braid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of this makes semantic and literal sense, it is only due to the gracious presence of [ alpha reader Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder) and [ beta reader Blessmycircuits!](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits)

 

“So Han just left her there?”

 

Leia’s nose twitches in response. 

 

She supposes it could be put in simple terms like that. 

 

He brought home a random girl and left her in Leia’s care - and now said girl is wreaking havoc on her household. Typical Han.

 

Hyperspace flickers bright blue and white through the transparisteel windows in the Mirrorbright’s private cabins, but they couldn’t be far from Birren now. Any minute and they’d finish the jump from the headquarters on D’Qar. A trip that was necessary in light of the new information they’d received from Finn. 

 

It had been necessary in expected, but also unexpected ways. What had been meant as a standard rendezvous proved again (as always) that Leia’s presence and leadership was indispensable. Desperately. Her guidance was needed for securing new pilot recruits. For overseeing the construction of a new hangar. Just her existence on D’Qar made things seem to run more smoothly. Afterall, an absent general is as good as no general.

 

On Birren they don’t care that she exists. 

 

Life goes on regardless of her presence. 

 

That doesn’t happen on D’Qar. 

 

Birren has become her own personal prison. Her governorship forces her to stay on-planet for most of the year to perform ridiculous ceremonial duties and make inconsequential decisions. Her bright mind and knack for politics have no place on the small Inner Rim planet. D’Qar is where her true purpose lies, and when the opportunity arises she always boards her splendid Mirrorbright to be as close as possible to the Resistance leadership.

 

The Birren government had frowned upon her absences, but ultimately turned a blind eye to them. In reality Leia’s presence was merely a formality. Sometimes she wonders if she should have pushed through and stayed on as a senator, crossing her fingers for Ben’s well-being and letting Carisse Sidian take her place six years ago. The centrist senator would have enjoyed the whole rigmarole much more. Taken pride in it even. Keeping up royal pretenses and facades had always seemed to come so much more naturally to her distant relation. She would have relished being in the position. 

 

However, there’s little time to ponder this. Little time to let the past catch up to her present. The pieces of the puzzle are shaped as they are, and with the growing need for her presence on D’Qar, she must make them fit however they can. Yet there is still concern for how long the brittle peace between herself and the natives of Birren will last.

 

Maybe it would be preferable to be hated. Disliked by the Birriniens. Removed from her duties. Were she to be completely honest, sometimes Leia finds that she cares little about the planet and their customs. She cares little about any of it. Especially when the peace of the galaxy is at stake.

 

How can you care about fashion, wealth, and fame when you know how little value they have in the grand scheme of things?

 

“- And you said she has been breaking into your son’s room?” Holdo implores, a teasing glint in her eye. Leia frowns, perplexed by her friend’s humor, placing her cup of tea down on the saucer. “What are you saying?”

 

The pink haired woman shrugs softly, a tiny smirk tugging at her lips as she sips delicately at her tea. “Oh. You know. He’s a handsome young man, she is a beautiful girl - are you sure he’s telling the truth? You are his mother after all. I for sure did not tell  _ mine _ .”

 

Leia gapes, actually gapes. “Amilyn!”

 

“What?” she retorts innocently.

 

“He has barely been in Birren for a week! And they have known each other for even less than that.”

 

“Young love moves fast.”

 

“You are ridiculous. Ben is not -”

 

“Interested?”

 

Interested. Is… Ben interested? 

 

It’s not that Leia hasn’t considered or even daydreamed about grandkids and partners-in-law, about weddings, family vacations, making sweets for the younglings. She has just never considered Ben being... interested in someone. Not that he isn’t an attractive young man. But his somber personality and more than enthusiastic approach to antagonizing people never let her even consider what it would look like if Ben were to be...interested in someone.

 

So she deflects, “That’s... beside the point. We were talking about Han.”

 

“Ah yes. Our dear Han. Have you heard from him since he left?”

 

Leia snorts, unladylike, “What do you think?”

 

“Is he embarrassed?”

 

“Who knows what Han thinks. He’s impulsive.”

 

“But you were jealous? Weren’t you?” It may be framed as a question, but Holdo says it in a way that shows just how well she knows the princess. How long they have been friends. How much they have endured together. “Do you have reason to be?”

 

Leia sighs, pinching her nose. “I don’t think so.”

 

“I don’t think so either,” Holdo smiles knowingly.

 

Just then the ship pulls in on itself, suspending the air around them, and snaps out of hyperspace. Their cups tinkle with the movement and they both turn their gaze to the transparisteel. Birren shines beautifully green and blue below them.

 

Yet Leia is not happy to be home.

 

In fact, her mood has turned gloomy. Leia feels it take root deep in her bones. 

 

What had started out as a simple gossip session with Holdo now reminds her of her own sorrows and concerns. Ben’s anger, Han’s disappearances, and Luke’s inaction. She hears Holdo say some comforting words in the distance. She knows it’s meant well, but once the thoughts are already there, they seem so hard to get rid off.

 

The unease follows her, all the way from the climb down the ramp to greeting the stiff faces of the staff, and then into her bedroom. It’s late in the evening when she arrives, dinner has already been taken so she orders only a small meal from the kitchen to be served in her room.

 

Her muscles ache, they’ve been aching a lot lately, and she tries to release the tension by flexing her shoulders and moving her head from side to side. Her reflection stares back at her from the vanity - her beautifully done hair, her intricate makeup, her expensive jewelry. 

 

Leia sees the lie, the perfectly marketed version of truth she knows so well how to perform. It’s all pretend. It’s to please everyone else, to allow her access to a world few know how to enter- yet it is all a lie. 

 

Carefully she opens a drawer to take out a cloth and starts to rub off the makeup, revealing aged lines and moderately tanned skin - all of it hidden beneath a layer of white powder, of eyeliner and lavender polish. How long has it been since Han saw her true face? When he shows up he is always quick to leave again. Has he seen how much she has aged? Would he still like this face?

 

While Leia knows the girl feels nothing for Han, a rift deep in her core leaks treacherous doubts. Had Han’s intentions been equally pure? Or had he seen something? Something Leia has failed to see? Something her son has discovered too?

 

Or maybe Ben too had merely seen a beautiful girl, just as Han did? Taken by youth, spirit, and looks. Like father like son. Beauty transfixes even the strongest of men. More wars have been fought over beautiful creatures than power. 

 

Leia takes in a deep breath, allowing herself to think the thoughts through to end, and then lets them go. Lets it all go. Lets Alderaan go. Lets her parents go. Lets Vader go. Lets her insecurities claw at her chest and then disappear.

 

She is removing her jewelry to a box when a timid knock comes from the door behind her. It doesn’t surprise her, the presence of her son in the Force tells her he has been standing there for several minutes, gathering courage. His insecure presence pulls on their connection. So, without as much as a ‘come in’, she waves her painted hand and the doors whoosh open. 

 

His heavy steps tread softly on the carpet from the living room into her bedroom. She doesn't see him when he enters, but she hears him pause on threshold while she is undoing her necklace, looking down at the desk.

 

“Good evening sweetheart, have you eaten already?”

 

“Yes. I took supper a few hours ago.”

 

She nods, placing the Mangana aqua jewel into its proper casing, not bothering to summon her dressing droid. “I’m sorry I had to leave while you are here for such a short time-” she mutters, unclipping heavy earrings. The bed creaks as he sits down on the fine linens behind her. She places the earrings into a box. “Tell me, When are you leaving again?” 

 

“Day after tomorrow.”

 

“So soon.”

 

“Yeah. Important vote in the Senate”

 

“Good to hear that they are voting on  _ something _ .” She feels his smile in the Force, she managed to amuse him, even if her back is still turned towards him. 

 

“Things have improved since you left.”

 

“Are you implying I was the cause of its ineffectiveness?”

\- And then she looks up into the mirror.

 

“Ben!?”

 

Leia twists in her seat violently. Eyes needing confirmation. Taking in his face, a face that is  _ indeed _ covered by a long, angry, red slash from his brow to his collarbone. She sees that it has been mended. A droid has clearly tended to it, but it is still healing, still pink and sore. 

 

Someone hurt her baby.

 

Without much thought, without much consideration, her hands cup his cheeks. They puff under her touch, and he winces as her fingers carelessly brush over the scarring. 

 

Yet he lets her. 

 

“Sweet boy what happened!? Who did this!?”

 

He attempts a half smile, a small one, an act of deflection. “I deserved it.” 

 

“Ben,” she groans. “Why must you always get in trouble.” 

 

“Why must I.” 

 

A pitiful sound escapes her throat and her fingers start to carefully stroke his hair, something she used to do when he was a child. It is much more difficult now that he is an adult, but he allows her. He even bends his head forward a little, resting it on her shoulder. 

 

It seems contradictory that his sad condition makes her feel happy and easy. Yet she finds that she doesn't care, because it makes him give in to her affections, her motherly urges. It gives her permission to care, to protect. 

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

“They gave me some painkillers, so not right now.”

 

“How did it happen?” She nuzzles her nose into his soft hair, his always so soft dark hair. His head was already the blackest of black when he was born, and it was the softest thing she has ever touched. Her beautiful son. 

 

“I got into a fight.” He sighs and adds, “I started it,” almost as if he knows she’ll ask. As if they’ve had this conversation more then once. 

 

“Why did you start it? Did they say something?”

 

“It was a challenge.”

 

“Did you win at least?”

 

“Actually,  _ no, _ ” he says, with a hint of satisfaction in his tone. Like his defeat was a good thing, a most wonderful thing. Leia mulls that over. He has never been a good sport, taking after...his whole family in that regard. Even as a child playing sabacc his losses would translate into ruined toys and furniture.

 

Leia would surrender all her wealth to have one of those moments back. Herself, Luke, Han, Chewie, and Ben in the Falcon, laughing, playing, and  _ yelling _ . 

 

Being a family. 

 

Although his departure is still a few days away, she finds that she misses him already, misses his company and his wit. While she lives in a palace full of droids and servants, her weeks are always better when he is here, when her own flesh and blood honors her with his presence.

 

As if he knows where her thoughts are going, he sighs, “Mom.”

 

“No, no - its fine. Let me be sad. It is good to be sad once in a while. Clears out the cabinets.”

 

“I don’t want to make you sad.”

 

“You could never make me sad, sweetheart. Angry yes, disappointed, happy, but never sad.”

 

“Don’t say that.”

 

She pulls away, looking up at the now marked face of her son, so much more like his father than he wants to admit. And she finds herself repeating words she once said to Han to their son as well. “The light is strong in you, always has been. You may stray, as we all do, but I know you belong in the light.”

 

His face twists into deep desolation, hurt, and disbelief, as if her words ring false to his ears. Leia does nothing to remedy that. She can shower him in all the compliments, trust, and love he deserves, but she cannot make him accept them. That is something only he can do. Yet she hopes the more the words that are spoken, the more he may begin to actually believe them. One day.

 

“Come, help me get ready for bed. I need someone to braid my hair.”

 

He groans, but complies, letting her turn around in her chair while he tenderly removes every clip and depositing them into her waiting hand. Then he takes her brush. It is a routine of theirs, a tradition almost, from his childhood. They would sit every evening in the bedroom and she would allow him to untangle her hair, then brush and braid it into her sleeping braid (even if it took three or four tries). Although he is now almost thirty years old, she senses that it pleases him to do so - he always enjoyed these times with her, and with age he had become quite skilled. He unravels the knots and in long strokes brushes out the waves with the most tender care. And then he begins to braid the smooth gray on brown. 

 

Leia sits there, pleased, ever the patient mother, allowing her son to play with her hair. 

 

And then he finally says what he has come to say.

 

“Mom.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

He is silent, fingers still pulling at her hair, braiding it, albeit distractedly. Confused, Leia sees in the mirror how his brow furrows and his mouth moves, considering his thoughts, wondering how to approach the topic. Lips thin, pulling inward. 

 

“Ben?”

 

He inhales almost painfully, hands still, and then opens his mouth -

 

Only to back down. “Nevermind,” he exhales. His face cringes like he hates himself for phrasing it like this, for not being able to follow through.

 

His hands fall back, indicating that her braid is finished. Leia pulls it over her shoulder, inspecting it with a satisfied smile. He nods as if happy with the end result too. But it is only a mask - she feels the despair rolling off him in waves.

 

So she tries something else. 

 

“So what have you been up to while I was away?”

 

Ben crosses his arms and leans forward, resting his head on his mother’s shoulder, gazing into the mirror, catching her eyes. “Not much. Trained a bit, wrote some reports, looked over proposals.”

 

“Everyone behaved well?”

 

“I guess. Dameron is still here.”

 

“Dameron? He hasn’t left yet?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then what is he doing here?”

 

He pauses. “He has been trailing after the stormtrooper and the scavenger.”

 

“Finn and Rey?” She tugs on the braid.

 

“I think he might like her.”

 

Leia blinks, “I ...see.” That doesn’t sound like Poe. Leia was quite convinced he was rather taken with the ex-stormtrooper. Had she been wrong? “Is he having any ... _ success _ ?”

 

Ben grumbles, closing his eyes. “No.”

 

“Well, he is usually quite the charmer. Maybe he’ll get there.” She purses her lips in thought, “I wonder why.”

 

“Maybe she’s different.”

 

Leia smiles. Tempted to chase a thought, tempted to connect this conversation to her earlier one with Amilyn. Tempted to imagine that Ben was interested.

 

“She certainly has a mind of her own,” the mother in her softly comments, turning a bit so she can pull him to her by the shoulders instead. “Maybe Poe just needs an update and a few pointers on how to charm a scavenger heart?” 

 

“Maybe.”

 

Leia is somehow caught off guard by the shift in topic and looks carefully at her own flesh and blood, watching him slump gravely against her shoulders. The scar shines pink and angry in the light from the vanity. Suddenly she becomes alarmed, asking herself if they ever managed to give Ben the talk about  “ _ Mallas and Nerfs. _ ” Would he know how to court someone? But then quickly recalls a disastrous afternoon between he and Han when he was 12. 

 

“Well, compliments are good -” she begins, caressing his hair as she slowly lists all the things she somehow knows could potentially work in wooing someone - just in case her son were to attempt impress this young, hardened girl. Yet, while she feels pride and excitement for her son, she also grows concerned. Her son, so  _ gifted _ and  _ different _ . Would someone like Rey be right for him? Did she have it in her to understand the burden he carries, his legacy? Could she help him lift it? Could he be happy with her, knowing where she’s from and how little she knows of this world?

 

Does he know about Han? Does he know how she came here? Would he be able to reconcile himself with the mysterious relationship she shares with his father, a man he refuses to speak with and of?

 

Did Rey even deserve him?

 

Leia steals a kiss on his forehead and prays to the Force that whatever comes of this will not break the heart of her sweet, sweet boy. He hums and rises from the bed, wishing her a good night.

 

“Good night Ben,” she speaks softly, as she watches him head for his room. The jewels of a chandelier cast light like confetti in his hair as he passes through her living room. It leaves her with only one thought. 

 

He deserves only the best life has to offer.

 

It is the least the Force can do, after bestowing him with such a curse, such a gift.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s late in the evening and Finn finds that, as with every other night on Birren, he can’t sleep.

 

He lies on the floor with the balcony door ajar and just ...stares. His stomach rumbles, but he ignores it. Eating food means potentially running into the Resistance. It means running into obligations he doesn’t want. It means running into Poe. That liar.

 

 _You can go anywhere you want, he’d said. After you’ve done here, I’ll take you whereever you want._ That apparently wherever he wants is within _Resistance_. Liar. 

 

And he’s so exhausted, so tired. His days become devoid of any meaning as soon as Rey leaves for those horrible sessions with the prince, which she always returns from moody and agitated. She snaps, she groans, she is distracted. Most evenings she just excuses herself early, leaving him to his own devices.

 

Tonight he hasn’t even seen her. She hadn’t come to visit him like she used to (or whatever habit you can form over three days). It makes him insecure, it makes him worry, it makes him feel like a disappointment. His feet tap against the bedspread, a nervous habit. He should have been able to do more. He should have protected her from the prince. He should have grabbed her when time was right, run off, escaped. Instead he is a coward who lets things happen to others and to himself...again. 

 

He remains a man with no agency. No power. 

 

He is a friend who disappoints. A friend who neglects. A friend who can’t protect the ones he cares about. A friend who can’t stop his friends from dying on the battlefield.

 

Although darkness has already fallen over his room, it reminds him too much of that day. That night. His fists clench, knuckles cracking. The moon is dark tonight, leaving the beautifully decorated room in pitch darkness. It suits his mood. It suits his thoughts. It confirms how disappointing he is.

 

Disappointing. 

 

He has allowed her to get hurt. His only friend. 

 

He only has one friend, how hard could it be?

 

Hard apparently. 

 

He is not worthy of friends.

 

He sits up abruptly from his makeshift bed. 

 

He clenches his fist again, determined. 

 

He wants to become someone worthy of friends. 

 

He is gonna rescue Rey. 

 

So he rises from his bed, puts on his heavy leather shoes, and runs. He runs down the hall, down to the basement, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. He runs through the hangar, runs through durasteel passages to the staff quarters. And then he buzzes the door to her room.

 

It opens almost instantly and he only barely manages to place a foot over the threshold when he stops. 

 

Finn stares at Rey standing in the doorway to her room. 

 

He stares at her bruised cheek. Her torn lower lip. The bacta patches on her left arm. Her red-flushed face, as though caught in a compromising position. He stares at her staring back at him. Lines form between her brows, her mouth slightly ajar, startled  to see him. As if his presence is not entirely welcome.

 

And then she cautiously says, “Finn?” Her hand shifts an icepack on her shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

 

He blinks, surprised.  _ What is he doing here exactly?  _

 

“I…” he tries, completely taken aback by her condition. Had she snapped? Had the  _ prince  _ snapped?

 

Had he hurt her? For real this time.

 

His blood, which was simmering from confusion, instantly begins to boil. The poisonous rage he feels overcomes him, overcomes his trepidation. Someone has hurt her, someone hurt his friend - and they won’t get away with it.

 

Without offering her any explanation, he darts for her bag on the left wall. With a wild ferocity he rummages around her cupboards and floor, packing - almost throwing - her clothes and tech into the bag. Rey sits on the bed, watching him, clearly taken aback by the turn of events. 

 

“Finn. What are you doing?” she tries again.

 

“I’m packing.”

 

“Packing?”

 

“We’re leaving.”

 

“To where?”

 

“Wherever you want to. You can fly a ship right?”

 

“I...can,” she mutters, bewildered. “But why?”

 

He stops, his hand clutching a pair of dirty welding gloves.  _ Is she really asking why? _ Cautiously, he turns his head to look over his shoulder. “Why?” he confirms. Rey nods.

 

At that he turns around completely, letting the gloves fall, still crouching. “Why?” he shoots back at her, a little harder. Her face cringes, as if his words alone were hurting her, scaring her.

 

“Rey. They hurt you. You are not safe here -” He tries not to spit, tries not to let the venom seep through. “I’m not safe here.”

 

Her eyes flit across her injuries like she is realizing her condition for the first time. She emits a long and tired breath and surrenders, shoulders sagging. “It’s not like that.”

 

“What’s not like what, Rey?”

 

“We sparred. I won.”

 

“It doesn’t look like it was a regular spar! He clearly meant to hurt you.”

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“Rey, for Force’s sake. I know his type!” he barks. “He will sooner or later. We are nothing but toys to them.”

 

“I can’t leave.”

 

“You  _ can’t  _ leave. Why!?”

 

Finn feels like he wants to shout.

 

He wants to shout at her, he wants to shout at Poe, he wants to shout at the prince, he wants to shout at the universe and all its injustice.

 

So he stands up and walks towards her, trying to talk some sense into her. “Rey, I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

 

She blinks, and then it feels as if something strange is happening. Something profound. Her gaze is hard on him, as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle, like she is trying to figure out his intentions.

 

Like she has only ever met people whom she cannot trust.

 

And those she has tried to trust have failed her.

 

So Finn lowers his voice and tries to come across as tender and understanding, saying, “I can’t go back and I can’t stay - I don’t belong here.” He swallows, “and I don’t want to leave you here. We can go wherever you want.”

 

For a moment, all that can be heard is the hum of the air circulation and the clanks and clunks of the plumbing system. 

 

And then she swallows, her red-rimmed eyes blinking fast, and with a deep breath says, almost to herself, “I can trust you?”

 

“Yes, you can.” And he believes it, with all his being - she can trust him.

 

Her eyes leaves his and she begins to dig for something under her mattress. Finn notices the blanket on the floor, the untouched surface of the bed. 

 

She can’t sleep on the bed either.

 

Somehow this convinces him more that they are on the right path and what he is doing is the right thing to do. It must be. They truly don’t belong here. He knows it. She is probably just looking for a few more things to take with her and then they’ll run, steal a ship and go.

 

Then she places a small holo device in his hand. It’s broken, patched together, with only half a shell and missing buttons.

 

And then she turns it on.

 

It whirrs and crackles, but then he sees it.

 

General Hux.

 

He might be distorted, a bit difficult to make out, but his tormentor is there, right there. Finn draws a shaky breath - almost forgetting to listen to the words.

 

_ “Kylo Ren.” _

 

Finn has heard those words before. That name. Heard it spoken. Heard it whispered in the corridors. Heard it shouted in the night.

 

He knows of Kylo Ren.

 

“Oh my god, Rey.”

 

She looks distressed, hurt, anxious. “Do you know who he is?”

 

Disbelieving, but suddenly feeling like the last few days are finally connecting, he says, “Is… Ben Solo is Kylo Ren?”

 

Rey closes her eyes, pressing her palms into over them. She groans. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I tried to find out and…”

 

And then she explains. All of it.

 

She explains how she got to Birren. She explains getting the holo by chance. She explains watching it. She explains her first attack and how he hurt her. She explains her second. The one with a pyramid - the one with a cloaked figure. She explains the prince’s strange moods, his attempts at recruiting her. She explains trying to recount it all to Leia. She explains their sparring match and how she won.

 

And then she says something, something he knows isn’t said easily. 

 

“Finn.” A breath. “I want to go home to Jakku. But I can’t leave… I can’t leaving knowing what I do about Starkiller. Knowing that maybe he knows. Knowing that I could’ve stopped it.”

 

She almost sobs, “But I can’t do this alone.” 

 

He clutches the holo tightly, making it press painfully into his palms. He’s angry at the prince for betraying them, for being tempted, for being a part of the First Order  _ willingly _ .

 

“We need to tell Poe.”

 

 

*

 

 

“Why are you telling me all of this?” the rugged commander inquires as he crosses his arms.

 

There is hardly any sound in the basement room, and it is dark, very dark (since  _ someone _ refused to turn on the light panels, because this was supposed to be secret). So there’s little he can make out just from the flickering blue light cast by the holo in front of him. Poe can see himself, a few chairs, and the somber faces of Finn and Rey. 

 

They don’t reply, allowing the whirring of the holoprojector motor to take hold. The holo he has watched over and over again. 

 

He rubs his cheek, feeling the stubble scratch against the coarse skin of his hand. A habit he picked up from his dad. A thing he’d always do when he thought too hard about something. When things required his utmost attention.

 

Poe is usually a man of instinct, always acting on the of spur of the moment, but even he knows that he needs to be careful here. Needs to think this through. 

 

The image flickers, and the voice of the person speaking breaks, but it’s clear. Even after watching it a dozen times, it is oh so clear - and makes so much sense. 

 

“I knew it,” he breathes. Relieved to be allowed to think these horrible thoughts. Allowed to say them out loud. Poe  _ knew  _ the prince was up to something.

 

But this is so much worse than he could have imagined. 

 

God. Leia will be so heartbroken when she hears about this. 

 

_ What now? _

 

“It won’t be enough though.” He hears himself say out loud. Wishing that it wasn’t true. Wishing it would be enough. “He’s the son of Leia. And the leadership trusts him. They won’t take this for what it is,“ he sighs, “they can be blind like that, to things that seem so obvious.”

 

“What then?” Rey softly speaks. “What can we do? We can’t sit on this and do nothing.”

 

Poe leans back against the wall, his shoulder still sore from Finn’s violent grasp as they had tossed him into the supply closet. Maybe he had hit the wall at bit too hard, but they didn’t seem to care, preoccupied as they were with arguing.  _ Can we tell him? We don’t have a choice! But Leia didn’t... _

 

“We need more,” Poe reluctantly tells them. 

 

“I tried to get more - I went to his room, but I found nothing.”  _ Is Rey blushing? _

 

“Does Leia know?” 

 

“I told her about the holo. But she said he is supposed to do that. It’s a part of his mission.” She shrugs, “I didn’t know what else to say.”

 

Poe grimaces, wrinkling his nose, “That’s true - but then this doesn’t make sense. He didn’t mention any of this in the meetings - and as far as we know, he hasn’t even had  _ contact _ with the First Order yet.”  _ He has lied to them. Lied to them all.  _ “Either someone knows more than we do about his mission - or he’s misleading us.”

 

“He obviously knows more stuff than he lets on,” Finn easily concludes. “He recognizes the name Starkiller. You heard his secretary say it too right?” Finn leans closer to the holo, keeping his voice low. “And I have heard of Kylo Ren. I’ve heard people speak of him. He is a known figure in the First Order. If Ben Solo is him, then we are in deep shit. All of this is compromised.”

 

“We need to do something!” Rey exclaims, squinting at the holo’s harsh light. 

 

Poe nods. “I agree. I really do. But if you couldn’t convince Leia with  _ this _ , then I can’t either. We need more evidence.” 

 

The ginger First Order general keeps jabbing in the distance, and Poe bends over to turn down the volume. “Rey already looked through his room and found nothing. So that probably means he won’t have anything anywhere near us or his mother. Too much of a risk.” He turns to look Finn directly into the eye. “It’d be on Hosnian Prime.”

 

Poe looks at Finn. Finn looks at Poe. 

 

“No,” the ex-stormtrooper snarls. 

 

“Finn -”

 

“Poe, no! I already told you. I won’t go to Hosnian Prime. I did not sign up for this. If the First Order has recruited  _ him,  _ then they are already there! On Hosnian Prime. They have my face on wanted posters for sure. I won’t be safe.” Rey places a hand on his shoulder to little effect. “Do you think they are the type to forget? Everyone knows my face!”

 

“But you know about them! You know exactly where to look!”

 

“I can’t. I’ll ruin everything!” Finn spat.

 

Poe, seemingly oblivious to Finn’s distress, chirps. “What do you mean?! You’ll be great. You’ve already outrun them, imagine all the -”

 

“What’s the point of fleeing the First Order only to die for you!”

 

“Because you’ll save the galaxy!”

 

“I don’t care about the galaxy!” Finn shouts. 

 

_ Silence _ . 

 

Drawn like an iron curtain on a rusty rod. It falls violently. Abrupt. Deafening.

 

Finn is panting, snarling, only kept at bay by Rey pulling him back by his left sleeve. Poe is stunned, mouth agape, finger still pointing - but his posture is that of a wounded animal. Like… he is disappointed. Finn blinks and suddenly he appears to realize what he just said.

 

But it’s too late.

 

“Poe.”

 

“No. It’s fine.”

 

“Poe, I...I didn’t mean it like that I-”

 

“Finn just drop it.”

 

“Po-”

 

“I can do it,” Rey blurts.

 

They both turn to Rey, who is still gripping Finn’s shirt. Her face is resolute, determined. Finn hunches, as if preparing himself for something unpleasant. Something he doesn't want to happen. “Rey-” he tries.

 

“I’ll go.”

 

“Rey, no.”

 

“Finn. I’m the only one who can do it.” There’s a glint in her eye. “I already know the staff, the senator obviously wants something from me - I could use that to my advantage.”

 

“Rey. No.” Finn almost growls, upset. “What about Jakku? What about leaving this place. We agreed.”

 

“Things change. I can’t go back knowing I could’ve stopped all of this. Knowing that if the galaxy falls - that I helped it come to fruition!”

 

“Someone else can do it.” 

 

“Or that someone could be me.”

 

A smirk pulls at Poe’s lips, he can feel it, he can’t stop it. Realizing that yes. Yes. This could work. Rey is right. And she wants to do it. He sees it. The spark that has been lit behind her eyes. The embers revealing an inferno of passion and purpose. 

 

The spark that will light the fire that’ll bring the First Order down. 

  
  


 

*

 

 

_ “I can take her.”  _ The holo crackles, but his voice is clear, authoritarian; sounding like a man used to speaking in front of crowds. 

 

It might be night on Hosnian Prime, but his outfit is elaborate, as if he at any moment would be ready to step onto the podium and address the entire senate - his blond hair slicked back, a few strands of of silver showing his subtle aging. He looked like a man you could trust. 

 

Ransolm Casterfo. 

 

Centrist senator and personal friend of Leia Organa. 

 

It’s early morning in the palace meeting room. The crowd is no more than a smattering of Resistance high command, both holoed-in and in person. Leia and her son stand side by side, watching the face of Ransolm speaking from his office on Hosnian Prime. Opposite them sit Rey, Finn, and Poe. Like three school children called in for an exam. All stiff backs and frowning faces. 

 

Would they find Rey an adequate volunteer for intel gathering in the New Republic Senate? The Centrist senator seems to believe so. 

 

He smiles brightly,  _ “It won’t be a problem.” _

 

Then he looks directly at Rey, white teeth sparkling even through the projection and she feels herself stiffen in response, trying her best to calm her bouncing knee. Finn sits next to her with arms crossed as he visibly sulks. They had agreed to not be openly antagonistic to Senator Solo, but Finn does nothing to uphold that agreement. He growls and frowns directly at Leia’s son, who mostly looks puzzled at the stormtrooper’s display of spite. 

 

She pinches his side, trying to make him stop. But Finn just grumbles and looks away for a few seconds, only to go right back to it. It is hard for Rey to keep him in line. Her heart just won’t still in her chest. Although Rey knows she already agreed, knows this is the right move, it still hammers away like a  railcrawler run loose. Like  Coaxium on the brink of explosion. 

 

It doesn’t help that the senator keeps looking at her, their eyes locking time and again - and he just… doesn’t do anything. No scowling, no smirking. He just… looks at her. And when he isn’t looking at her, her eyes are tracing his face, finding his new scar bright and pink. 

 

Why is she so nervous? 

 

And she can’t help but take pride in her work. She did that. She marked him. 

 

“Wouldn’t it be better if I hosted her?” Ben suddenly says. 

 

The remaining Resistance leadership, both via holo and present in the room, turn to Leia’s son, stunned. As if they are unused to hearing his opinion. Casterfo is the first to speak, “That could work, but she’d be with the staff right? Doesn’t she need to be near the Centrist part of the building?”

 

Taslin Brance nods, weighing in, “I agree, I think she needs to be credible. If she stays with Senator Solo, she’ll automatically be associated with Leia. We need to avoid the pitfalls of your mission.”

 

He scoffs, “Pitfalls - are you-”

 

Statura raises his hand, “I think she’d fit in better with Senator Solo. It’d make sense to keep her as close to the Resistance as possible.”

 

A humanoid general snorts in response, “We don’t know her that well either -“ 

Voices around him slowly rise in agreement. “Also, how can we be sure we can trust he-” 

 

“I agree with Casterfo,” Leia interrupts, raising her hands. “We need as many people in as many places as we can get. And Casterfo is already aligned with the Centrist fraction - and they trust him. They don’t trust Ben as a populist.”

 

Poe leans into Rey’s shoulder, hands locked behind his back, as the  High Command  continues to discuss. How would she go about it? Would she be his secretary? A mechanic? Where will she stay? Their voices getting louder, their gestures wilder. The pilot whispers, “I had hoped you’d stay with Ben - but we can still make this work. Just stay close to him, to his staff.” Rey nods, and he continues, “Casterfo isn’t per se involved, but he is supportive. So I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities for sneaking around.”

 

“Yes,” trying to keep her voice as low as possible.

 

He places a small device in her hand, a comm. She looks at it and then up at him. “Special code. Secureline. Use it only when you are alone and you need to speak to Finn or me.”

 

“I don’t like this,” Finn mumbles, eyes never leaving the senator.

 

“It’ll be okay,” she says, placing the comm into the pockets of her pants. 

 

Finally, after what seems to be several standard hours, the command appears to come to an agreement. Leia turns to her, staring straight into her eyes. Rey swallows, straightening her back. There’s an odd expression on the princess’ face - like she is trying to determine something important. Her eyes skim the bruised skin and the bacta on her arm, as if it holds some fundamental truth about Rey, about her nature. It makes her skin prickle, and not in a good way.

 

Rey raises her chin, trying to appear strong, proud.

 

Then Leia speaks, “It will be dangerous.”

 

“I’m not scared.” 

 

Rey feels Ben’s eyes on her, but she refuses to submit, refuses to give in.

 

Leia smiles, “I know.”

 

*

 

The weather is warm and the sky is lit by thousands of stars. It is a beautiful sight - starlit Rey thinks the word for it is. And it is one of a kind. No sky on any other planet is exactly the same. Rey knows this now. The constellations change, the north star is not the same as on Jakku.

 

Rey knows worlds now.

 

And now she will see new ones.

 

Maybe that is why her heart won’t stop racing, why her cheeks refuse to cool. Yeah, she feels it. The same anxious from the meeting. A restless sensation in her body, the nervous tingling of what to expect, what to make of it all. Birren had just about become a place she was familiar with, and now she’s already leaving.

 

This time though, it’s different. She’s choosing to go. She is doing this because she wants to. She is doing this because she has to.

 

Leaving Jakku was not necessary. Leaving Birren is. Just not for the reasons she expected. Not to go back, but to go even further. To see more.

 

Tomorrow is so soon though. 

 

Finn fumbles with his shirt, trying to button it in the proper fashion - having agreed with Poe to stay on Birren for the time being. He had refused to take a ship and leave, not without Rey, and he had refused to go to Hosnian Prime. So without many other opportunities he accepted a position in the local Resistance squad. 

 

“You don’t like the uniform?” Rey tries, her fifth attempt at something coming close to an apology. Finn snorts, “It feels weird, too stretchy.”

 

Rey nods, knowing that when she arrives on Hosnian Prime she’ll be too cold for her Jakku outfit. She’ll have to change her clothes too. She’ll have to do a lot of things differently. She’ll have to-

 

“We should have just run,” he breathes. 

 

His voice is small, almost like she shouldn’t have heard it. But some things need to be said out loud. She knows that. 

 

With a sigh, she hesitantly places her head on his shoulder. “I know.”

 

“What will you do now?” She feels his cheek softly push against the top of her head, his question muffled by her hair. It feels odd to be close, to be comforting each other, when who knows when they’ll see each other again? Or even if they’ll ever see each other again.

 

Rey sucks in a breath, trying to calm herself, to ignore the desire to weep and the burning in her eyes.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**   
>  Coaxium
> 
> [High Command ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Alliance_to_Restore_the_Republic)
> 
> [Mallas](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Malla_petal)
> 
> [Mangana aqua jewel](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mangana_aqua_jewelr)
> 
> [Nerfs](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nerf)
> 
> [Railcrawler](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/20-T_Railcrawler_conveyex_transport)
> 
> [ Taslin Brance ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Taslin_Brance)


	11. Chapter 11: Casterfo

_ Chapter 11: CASTERFO _

 

_ Who is Ransolm Casterfo?  _

 

It is not a question he asks himself a lot. Not any longer at least, after having spent almost a decade as Riosa’s representative in the Galactic Senate.

 

It is a strange question too. Because he is many things, but not all of them at the same time. 

 

He’s a Centrist who wants more central governance, who desires universal reforms and structures, who wishes for equality amongst all the systems. Everyone under the same rules and regulations.

 

But he is also a part of the Resistance, a silent and unseen chess piece, but a piece nonetheless. 

 

Some would find it an odd combination.

 

Casterfo does at least.

 

But here he is, waiting, for his new ward. The Resistance’s new spy. 

 

_ What a strange world _ , he thinks as he stands on a landing platform, hands folded behind his back, waiting for the Lambda-class shuttle  _ Delphic _ to make an appearance. 

 

It’s at least a half an hour late according to schedule, he concludes, after removing one hand to look at the chrono on his comm. It’s not unusual - the path from Birren to Hosnian Prime, while close, is occasionally disturbed by leftover gases from nebulas passing through the hyperspace lane. Luckily Ransolm is a patient man, something he has begun to appreciate more and more with the ever-growing rift between the Centrists and Populists in the Senate.  

 

What promise there was to be unified once more now lay crumbling on the Senate floor.

 

While he knows it cannot be attributed to one single person, he has to admit that the Republic has vastly deteriorated since Senator Organa ended her term nearly six years ago. 

 

Six long years with only himself and a few other politicians who have actively fought for the Senate to take the First Order seriously. A life where he spends his days trying to minimize talks on unimportant bureaucratic nightmares and instead pull their focus to the larger threats challenging the safety of the galaxy.

 

Sometimes he wonders if all of it truly was better during the Empire? Having one person dictate the will of the galaxy. 

 

Or have the words of the Empire’s admirers in his party finally started to penetrate his armor? Is their logic actually...sound?

 

Casterfo involuntarily frowns at seeing the clouds starting to gather overhead. The forecast did say it would rain today, but he is not particularly interested in standing on the platform and getting drenched as he receives Senator Solo and his new ward. H7 stirs next to him, silently communicating with Traffic Control and just as he is about to ask, the sleek silver hull of the  _ Delphic  _ emerges from the clouds, pushing them aside like they were cotton candy. Light and elegant. 

 

It reminds him of the mission he took with Leia to  Bastatha  and  Sibensko . Or of their times on the  _ Mirrorbright _ , discussing  Rinnrivin Di's cartel, arguing, going through the evidence, planning their next mission, formulating speeches, and forging alliances. 

 

It might have been the only time in the Senate’s history that they had actually...done something. Achieved something.

 

All because of Leia Organa. 

 

While they had known  _ of _ each other for years, their  _ familiarity  _ had been short-lived - shattered by that one holo from her brother. Just as they were to leave for Sibensko.

 

It’s a day he’ll never forget. Because it was the day that Leia, a patron of the people, a legend of the Rebellion, someone who had spent her whole life putting public service above her family, looked at her colleague - tears in her eyes - and admitted that some things truly were more important than the galaxy.

 

And so she had left and moved to Birren as the Supreme Governor.

 

One year later her son took her place on the  repulsorpod  in the  Senate Chamber. 

 

That same year, Casterfo had been summoned to a small planet in the Outer Rim and finally stood face to face with the heroes of the Rebellion.

 

Where he had become familiar with  _ Resistance _ .

 

_ You can take the princess out of the Senate, but you can never take away her drive to better the galaxy. _ He grins at the thought, even though he’s convinced that her place is here, with him, in the  _ Senate _ . 

 

Ransolm guesses that it is some consolation that her son has taken over her place - despite Solo’s struggles. 

 

The young man seems self-assured and knows how to carry himself like true royalty. Yet there is an edge to him, something that tells Ransolm that the boy takes more after his father than his mother. Composed and thoughtful on the outside - but just below the surface simmers a well of anger, a passion, a desire to enforce his will on others. 

 

Leia has taught him well, the senator from  Riosa  supposes, for him to keep it hidden so well. 

 

The landing gear opens with a woosh and the ship launches a gust of air towards the floor, as it slowly descends before him, tugging at Casterfo’s dark blue coat. Senator Solo’s staff stands next to Ransolm, already preparing to clean the vessel and remove its cargo. They are on edge, hands fidgeting.

 

So he tries again. Tries to sum up who is Ransolm Casterfo. He tries to prepare, tries to figure out how to explain to the young woman now entering his household who he is.

 

He’s a man from  Riosa .

 

A man who has suffered at the hands of Darth Vader. Lost his parents to him. 

 

A man dedicated to his mission.

 

A man ready to die for the cause.

 

A man who by all means believes in the full capacity of democracy - because it has to work.

 

The  platform  descends and the technicians quickly scatter to begin checking the hull of the ship for damage. Ransolm puts on his smile, the one he knows works on even the most difficult of people. 

 

And then the senator appears, dressed darkly (as usual) and scowling at the sight of Casterfo.  _ Not surprising _ . Behind him emerges the remaining staff, his hesitant secretary Mitaka, and then he sees her -

 

A young, tanned girl, freckles covering her cheeks, hair pulled back in three buns and a quarterstaff clutched tightly in her hand.

 

Oh, so she is a practitioner of the quarterstaff. 

 

Just like him.

 

He grins. 

 

Rey looks like a girl who could take a few punches to the face and would just growl in return. 

 

Perfect for this mission. 

 

Ransolm extends his hand as he briskly walks toward the crowd, “Senator Solo! Welcome back!” The young senator begrudgingly accepts his hand and nods, “Senator Casterfo.”

 

“How is your mother?” Ransolm says, pleased. 

 

“Well.”

 

“And your father?” 

 

“He was not there.”

 

“Oh, what a shame. Such a long time since I’ve last seen Han.” The taste of Corellian brandy immediately comes to mind. ”I must remedy that soon.” And then he turns to the purpose of his humble welcoming committee. “ _ Young Rey _ . Thank you so much for joining our cause.”

 

He grips her hand before she even manages to raise it. “Your help is much appreciated, I have so many plans for you!”

 

Rey blinks, obviously taken aback, but manages to mumble, “I-...thank you. Senator.” Her hand grasps his, hard, and it makes him smile even more. “Good, we have much to do and many people to introduce you to - and we are already late.”

 

Casterfo turns to Senator Solo, and while he himself is not a short man, he is awed by the towering and intense young man. There’s a permanent scowl etched into the lines on Leia’s son’s face, and while Casterfo is seldom intimidated, he finds himself cowering just a bit. On instinct.

 

He tries not to let it remind him of Darth Vader.

 

Of that time on Riosa. 

 

“Thank you, Senator Solo, for bringing my ward here safely.” He places a hand on Rey’s shoulder and she stiffens. “I would like to get her to work as soon as possible. Care to join me for a cup of tea while my secretary introduces her to the system?”

 

Solo glances briefly at the girl, and swallows his lips, thinking, before sighing (which somehow also sounds like a groan), “ _ Fine. _ ” And without much consideration, he marches ahead, leaving Rey and Casterfo behind. 

 

Casterfo waits a few moments, ensuring the young Solo is a few steps ahead, when he leans down, hand still grasping her shoulder, to whisper, “Don’t worry. You are safe with me.” 

 

She freezes at the change in tone before allowing her shoulders to visibly deflate, the tension leaving her body. A frustrated whimper escapes her lips, “Is it that apparent?”

 

His smile falls, replaced by an expression of seriousness he knows the situation deserves. “Leia has told me enough to put two and two together.” 

 

He sees it, the way her brows furrow, and he whispers,“He is not an easy man, never has been - and I won’t dig into what the cause of your conflict is, but let me give you a bit of solid advice.” His hand circles the cold metal of the rod, “Leave the staff in your room. Here we fight with different ways.” He doesn’t tug at the quarterstaff, just cautiously rests his hand on it. “No fighting people. Only with words.”

 

Rey looks at his hand, loosely embracing the quarterstaff and he adds, “I can’t keep you safe if you don’t follow the rules,” and at that she nods.

 

_ Good _ .

 

*

 

Riosa is not a well off planet, and despite the good intentions of the Republic shown by making the senatorial building only  _ one _ floor - to make everyone equal - there is not much to see in his office, compared to others.

 

He has a  Cosian wood desk facing the transparisteel windows overlooking  the New Republic Peace Gardens , a burgundy colored couch, and a few exotic plants he got cleared to import from his homeworld. The walls are covered with ancient imperial memorabilia - flags, stormtrooper helmets, weapons, and last but not least, his most prized possession (and the one it had cost most to get - in more ways than one) - an  Imperial Guard helmet. Shining red and angry at the center of it all. Casterfo takes pride in his collection. Once that pride was centered around preserving history, acknowledging the past. Now it serves as a reminder of how wrong he was, how the past does not always stay in the past. How he and Leia were at odds. It reminds him of finding the first clue about the First Order - when he had to fight his way into the  Amaxine warriors’ trust. How the Imperial Guard helmet had come into his possession. 

 

The wall reminds him of that.

 

But it also serves another purpose. 

 

To make his First Order-affiliated colleagues believe he is amenable to their cause. 

 

Senator Ransolm Casterfo is not an activist. He does not actively oppose or fight the First Order. No. He gathers intel. Keeps his ears open for whispers, for rumors. He may not be put on recruitment posters as a dashing pilot, but his work is important. Crucial. 

 

And he needs help. 

 

So he pulls the chairs out from a tiny  Homogoni table and gestures for Leia's son to take a seat, ordering a droid to prepare  Gatalentan tea . 

 

He can hear his secretary chatting away on the other side of the door, punching Rey into the administrative system, showing her the ropes, probably taking her fingerprints for the security crew to give her access codes. 

 

The young Solo is silent as he takes in the artifacts on the wall, before scoffing, “Did my mother approve of your collection?” 

 

Casterfo grins, remembering the first time she had walked into the room. All ready to talk business, when business was suddenly sidetracked. Her stern voice trying to figure out the intentions of a green, barely 30-year-old senator. She had certainly scolded him like he was a toddler who had drawn on the walls with crayon.

 

“Oh no, not at all! She very loudly disapproved,” Casterfo laughs. Solo nods, fidgeting in his seat, seeming uncomfortable and somewhat exhausted. There’s a brief moment of tense silence between them and it reminds Casterfo that any conversation with Solo is a fraught affair, where every word must be forced from his mouth with great effort. Maybe that’s why they have never truly...talked, despite both being affiliated with the Resistance. 

 

Casterfo ponders this, amused… Wondering if it wasn’t for Solo’s often hostile demeanor, could the current silence be attributed to ... _ shyness _ ?

 

Impossible. 

 

Putting aside the question of shyness versus hostility, Casterfo is a well-liked senator for a reason, and his easy charm and way with words has won him favors more than once. So he continues.

 

“I thought we could meet here, in private, to discuss some of the findings Leia hinted at in our communications. As we are now two out of the three active intel gatherers in the Senate, I thought it would be good to lay out a plan, especially between the two of us. It will make it easier for me to put our young Rey to work.”

 

“And what exactly do you plan to use her for?” Solo grumbles, eyes flashing across the room to the door leading to the reception area.

 

Casterfo shrugs. “Hard to tell without knowing where to start, but given her experience with tech, I’d like her to be as close to the other senators’ staffs as possible. Befriend them, gain insight, and perhaps, if she is good, some minor security slicing could be achieved. “The droid places a tray of tea on the wooden table and Casterfo reaches across to pour it into the flowery golden cups. “We, as senators, may be closest to the real perpetrators and the influential supporters of the First Order. But they will always be guarded and tight-lipped.” He hands Solo a cup and then catches his gaze on purpose.

 

And in a stiff voice, “However,  _ staff _ tends to  _ overhear _ much more than we assume - they are the eyes and ears of this place - and they are always not so  _ tight-lipped _ .”

 

“That's a fault on the employer’s behalf, if they recruit such disloyal staff,” Solo remarks as he sips from the tea. 

 

“Indeed, but that is only to our advantage.”

 

“Do you trust your staff, Senator Casterfo?”

 

“With my life, Your Highness.”

 

Senator Solo grimaces. “And do you trust Rey?” 

 

Casterfo glances at the door, hearing only muffled voices.  _ Does he trust Rey? Leia seemed to. _ “She has potential. But we will see.”

 

There’s familiar female laughter coming from the front desk and Leia’s son visibly frowns at the sound, almost as if he is...moping? Ransolm pretends not to notice, and continues, “I am sure Leia would only send me people whom she trusts. So I choose to trust her.”

 

“My mother’s trust can be misplaced,” Solo mutters lowly, and sips from his tea, still grimacing (does he not like tea?). He then asks, “You want us to collaborate?”

 

“That’d be preferable. Let’s forge strong ties between the Populists and the Centrists already.” Solo nods, and Casterfo leans back into his chair, watching him as he proposes, “Why don’t you start by telling me what you know, and what words we need to keep an eye out for?”

 

The massive bulk of a man sits still in his chair, eyes burning into the fine china, obviously contemplating his words precisely. Casterfo, ever-patient, looks at him expectantly, stirring sugar in his tea until it softly dissolves. And then the troubled son of Alderaan opens his mouth and speaks a single word, “Starkiller.”

 

“Starkiller?”

 

“Poe Dameron gathered intel on  Anoat and found several Centrist politicians to be present - among them...Lady Carise Sindian.” Solo pauses, gathering his words. “They were talking about a weapon.”

 

“Carise? A weapon?”

 

“That’s what he said.”

 

Casterfo twirls the spoon, making a pattern with the free-floating tea leaves. He scrunches his nose, a habit from his childhood. “Anyone else?”

 

Solo twists his mouth, frowning, slowly recalling name after name. People they risk seeing as they exit the office, people Casterfo eats dinner with, has had drinks with. Some he himself suspected.

 

And others he did not.

 

“And they are building a weapon?”

 

“So Dameron says.”

 

“What are we on the lookout for? Anything I need to be aware of?”

 

Laughter once more erupts from behind the door, and Casterfo hadn’t even noticed how low the senators’ voices had become, for the noises outside to break their conversation. Solo looks at the door before carefully choosing his words.

 

“No. No that’s it.”

  
  
  


*

 

Rey stands in her new room. 

 

It has a window.

 

A window overlooking a lush green park, where people are walking, where people are talking, where the leaves are pink and red and purple. It looks like nothing she has ever seen.

 

Her hands touch the cold transparisteel as she takes it all in. 

 

Rey thought she knew what other worlds looked like.

 

Rey knows so little. 

 

“Do you like it?”

 

Casterfo’s assistant stands dutifully in the doorframe, hands folded behind her back, a small smile plastered on her bluish face. The small room comes with an equally small attached ‘ fresher , a bed along the wall, a chair and desk, and a white built-in dresser. It’s connected directly with Casterfo’s own studio apartment by a long corridor, protected by a securely bolted door, which only she and a few others have the access codes for. The assistant has a room too, for the days she can’t make it home to her family on the other side of the planet. 

 

“Very much,” Rey mutters, eyes trailing the small man-made stream carving the park in half. There are birds chirping outside.

 

“Good.”

 

Her room is white, so white, and the window is so bright - everything is cast in a warm golden glow. Rey thought she knew warmth, that she knew heat, but she finds again that she knows nothing.

 

But this time it doesn’t scare her.

 

Not as much at least.

 

The dark-haired assistant - was her name Kelko Su? - steps closer and opens a closet, revealing several practical-looking outfits in greys, blues, and browns. “The Senator requested that I have some stuff brought over for you - I’m not sure if they are your size, but you should try them on - and if any don’t fit, just tell me.” Rey pulls at the hem of one of the soft-looking tunics, wondering how it will look to...not wear anything that looks like sand. Will blue suit her? Will people recognize her?

 

Kelko then points at her worn out boots, “I need your measurements for shoes too, you will have to wear proper boots when in the Senate. And I'm sad to say that these won’t do.” Rey wiggles her toes, looking at the frayed seams. Seams she herself has painstakingly sewn and resewn whenever they tore. She mutters a soft ‘oh’, and Kelko smiles at that.

 

“You’ll do fine! For the first few days you’ll follow me and I’ll get you sorted, and then you can help the Senator with small stuff - taking notes, making bookings through the systems, all those things.” She pulls on a cord that flips the blinds on the window, dimming the room. “I already made you a learning plan. It’s good that we got you as an intern - there really is a lot of work these days, and he is not a man who has time to sit still.”

 

Right. An intern. That was the cover story. An intern from Jakku. Even Casterfo’s own assistant does not know of her true purpose here, of her true goals - but then again, Casterfo doesn’t either. 

 

The falseness of it all is hard, to know that she is deceiving him. And while their goals may be aligned in spirit, he is not here to take down Ben Solo and expose him as the fraud he is to the galaxy. No. Casterfo is pure, purposeful - he is here to do the right thing. To take down the First Order through democratic and political means. 

 

Rey admires him for that.

 

Rey finds she admires him a lot actually, despite only knowing him for a few hours.

 

So she takes some consolation in the fact that while their methods may be different, they both agree that something must be done.

 

And that somehow pacifies the guilt in her stomach.

 

If only it wasn’t for Leia’s son’s odd behaviour. 

 

Rey frowns at the thought, somewhat oblivious to Kelko showing her what various switches do and don’t. Muttering soft yeses and giving brief nods.

 

They are having a conversation.

 

Something the prince had absolutely refused to do, and instead greeted her with a scowl and silence.

 

Silence. Just pure silence, was all she had been met with when she boarded his ship. He had glanced at her, surely, the mark on his cheek was still pink and blushing, but no words were spoken, not even a nod of acknowledgement, even as the rest of the crew and staff had greeted her cheerfully. One swirl on his feet and he had disappeared to his chambers - and just...left her there.

 

Rey is not sure why that bothers her. Perhaps because it makes him unpredictable and therefore makes her unable to asses him. She is supposed to expose him, and having him changing personality just won’t do. How can she work with that? Just when she thought she had him figured out, figured out his violence and anger, he turns somber and quiet. She knows how to deal with fury, but not with...this. 

 

Not this, this frustrating man!

 

“See you tomorrow Rey”, Kelko says with glee in her voice, and she gives Rey a quick peck on the cheek. Rey freezes, observing the smaller woman as she quickly marches down the hall. She’s surprised by the warmth and familiarity that they so easily give to her. Kelko’s presence is so soft and light.

 

Nothing like the presence of Leia’s son, who had left Casterfo’s office earlier today, sparing her not even a glance or a ‘good day’ - even as she sat right there, in the front office. He walked right past her. There's no way he was unaware of her presence

 

Does he suspect her? Does he know? Is he trying to hide from her? 

 

A heavy weight settles in her stomach, seeping bitter bile into her veins. 

 

So Rey slumps down on her bed, her back hunched over as she broods. Her hand begins to unintentionally trace the fabric of of the white woven bed quilt, rough yet oddly soothing against her palm. She knows she will sleep on the floor, she has already decided that, but still - it is nice to pretend that she will slip under the covers, place her head on the pillow and just be...normal.

 

Yes, like everyone else. 

 

*

 

And that is what Rey tries to do. When she wakes up the next morning, she dons a new outfit - gray and blue - and looks at herself in the mirror. 

 

Rey has never seen herself look like this, hair shiny, combed back into her buns, face scrubbed clean, her clothes pristine, eyes shiny and bright. She touches her jaw, finding it fuller. Has she gained weight? She must have. With her meals coming at regular intervals, hunger has not been on her mind lately, so her healthy pink cheeks can only be a sign of that.

 

It makes her proud.

 

And shameful.

 

This person is not Rey, she does not recognize herself in her. The mirror reflects all of it back at her, the past she will never shake by simply putting on civilian clothes. It reminds her that she should be back on Jakku, that her family could be waiting for her - that she is letting people down.

 

She exhales.

 

Again and again.

 

Trying to remind herself. It is a mission. She is a spy. And spies put on masks, they pretend.

 

Jakku must wait.

 

Just a little while longer.

 

And Rey pretends to be a normal intern working for a normal senator. 

 

She goes with him to lunches, to dinners, to libraries, to public forums, and even one day they go to a planet a few hours away for a meeting with the  Veterans’ Hospital . Every day they discuss tactics, they discuss findings, but neither of them comes any closer to hearing anything about Starkiller, about the First Order or the ginger-haired general from her holo.

 

Rey never tells Casterfo about the holo she fixed. 

 

She doesn’t know how to.

 

Instead, they sit at his desk at night, looking over the intel he has already gathered. He passes her a cup of tea, and when she slurps the hot water, she gags.

 

“What is  _ this _ ?” she almost shouts, offended.

 

And he laughs, patting her on her head. Like a father teasing his daughter.

 

His easy-going nature helps. It makes her feel at ease. 

 

At ease when they attend meetings in the Senate, where she observes how politicians yell and shout from their repulsor pods, but that they never reach anything that is remotely close to a conclusion. And while Casterfo does his best, puts on his best clothes and smiles as wide as he can, even he sometimes just sits back in their pod - defeated.

 

“I still don’t understand the difference between the Populists and the Centrists,” she mutters one day as they are going through the legislation for  the Colonization Act .

 

Casterfo smirks, “Well, there are a lot of greys in it, but if we had to divide it into black and white,” he says, and points to the left side of the room. 

 

“The  _ Centrists,  _ including me, believe in the centralization of executive authority.” With a swift hand he takes a pen and begins to draw a diagram on his tablet. “Without a coherent and sound central government, which has clearly aligned policies, it makes it easier for cartels and criminal syndicates to rise.” 

 

“But..isn’t that what the Empire tried to do?” Rey hesitantly prods, trying to use some of the knowledge she has from her time on Jakku. Casterfo both nods and shakes his head, a mixed shrug, “You can argue for that - but we don’t believe in one man holding all the power. What I think is necessary is to take what worked from the Empire and apply it to our current government.” A sigh escapes him, “Some take it a bit further though.”

 

“Do...do they wanted to revive the Empire?” Rey asks, disbelieving. 

 

Casterfo reluctantly agrees, “Yes. There will always be some who want absolute power. On both sides.”

 

“And the  _ Populists _ ? Was Leia a Populist?”

 

“She was. She takes after Bail Organa in that regard. She wanted planets to have more independence, more sovereignty. Overall, the Populists are more of a libertarian ideology, with emphasis on greater individual freedoms, both social and economic.” Casterfo winks, “Although I’ll say the policies are more idealistic, than they are ideal.”

 

“And you and Leia...are still friends?” Rey asks, carefully.

 

Casterfo places the pen back into its container, taking her in, making sense of her question. “Politics should not interfere with friendship - not when something larger is at stake.” Rey nods, thinking she understands, and then asks:

 

“And...B-Senator Solo is also a populist?”

 

Casterfo sighs, shrugging. “Who knows what he is? Officially, yes. But he has never fully claimed an affiliation.”

 

_ Maybe that’s because Senator Solo never says anything _ , Rey thinks.

 

She sees him walking the halls, brooding and grumbling. She sees him take notes in the Senate chamber, but he never actively tries to debate anyone. It’s as if he is bored, disinterested.

 

One day she glances at him carefully from their pod several rows above his, and she notices something. A pen in his hand - and real paper. He scribbles and draws - and if she could just lean a bit further to the right then perhaps she could-

 

And then he looks up at her.

 

She ducks. 

 

Rey stops looking at him from then on. 

 

Casterfo looks at her, curiously. 

 

He is a strict boss, but compassionate and kind too. Rey has never known anything besides the wrath of Unkar Plutt. The  Riosan  Senator’s kindness to her is so strange and new. She hardly knows what to do with it - how to interpret his gestures.

 

So when he tells her, “I’d like you to start spending more time in the hangars or with some of the other secretaries,” she does exactly as he tells her.

 

How can she refuse him? How can she refuse such benevolence, when he asks so little of her?

 

So she tries, she really does. Sits with them in the cafeteria, goes with Kelko to functions and makes awkward banter with the pilots who mostly give her odd looks and sideways smiles.

 

She tries.

 

She really does.

 

But she is so tired. So, so tired. The days drain her, her feet ache and her head is so slow. So she always almost immediately crashes onto the makeshift bed on the floor.

 

Yet, every night, despite how truly exhausted she is, she draws a small line onto one of the walls of the room.

 

And then one day, she suddenly finds that a whole standard month has passed since she left Jakku - the fourteen slashes on her wall tell her as much.  

 

*

 

It’s Finn who answers the comm when it rings on the small bedside table. 

 

He scrambles from his spot on the floor, groggy from sleep, and reaches across the  _ proper  _ bed to retrieve it. It’s a short distance, nothing like the grand room he had first been subjected to, overlooking the courtyard and valley. Now he has a simple furnished room in the staff quarters.

 

Some might think it a shame that he has been transferred away from luxury and comfort - but Finn relishes his newfound freedom, surrounded by durasteel walls and dented bed frames. This is where he belongs. It feels like a relief.

 

It feels like something bringing him closer to what he wants.

 

Which is not what Poe suggested when he left.

 

“You could come with m e, to Ryloth. I  could really use your help,” Poe had said. He had promised him adventure and illustriousness.

 

But as usual, Poe heard nothing and Finn knew that had he said yes, he would never have been able to leave. He would be dragged back into the Resistance and forced to deal with Poe’s antics. Deal with Poe’s recklessness.

 

It would probably be dangerous.

 

Finn is not interested in danger.

 

He is not interested in anything Poe has to offer. 

 

_ “I’ll stay here,”  _ he had replied, watching as Poe’s hopeful expression crumbled, as he broke the rugged Pilot’s heart. However, Finn has no misgivings - Poe is not a man who stays hurt for long. He gets up and soldiers on, pursuing some new fling or interest.

 

Finn has decided he will not be one of many. He has already lived his whole life like that.

 

“Rey?” his voice, hoarse from sleep, replies.

 

“Finn?” her voice breaks slightly from interference, and he glances at his chrono. It’s night on Birren, but it’s probably closer to midday in the Republic City. He scoots so he lies on his stomach on the bed. “Yeah, it’s me. Poe gave me the comm watch.” Rey says a small ‘oh’ and her end of the line goes silent, as if reaching Finn somehow caught her by surprise.

 

Finn adjusts himself on the bed and then tries, “How are you?”

 

“Good, good...I think. You?”

 

“Good.”

 

“...Good.”

 

The comm crackles again with radiation interference, but he knows Rey hasn’t been cut off. Her breath is still there, on the other end of the line - but somehow both are at loss as to what to say.

 

So he says what he knows she must want to hear.

 

“Can I help you with something?” he asks.

 

Rey exhales and then a soft thump is heard through the device, as if she hit her head against a table or a wall in defeat. “It isn’t working.”

 

“What’s not working?”

 

“I don’t hear anything, I can’t find anything - no one trusts me. No one tells me anything.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“What should I do?”

 

Finn, a bit more awake, sits up. “Have you tried...I don’t know - going to his staff?”

 

“Whose?”

 

“Ben Solo’s?”

 

“You mean the technicians?”

 

Finn shrugs, knowing full well she can’t see him. “Yeah, Poe says you got along with them pretty well - maybe they remember you?”

 

Rey says nothing and he can almost hear her think, hear the wheels turning in her head. “I...haven’t done that. I’ve only...been where Kelko - Casterfo’s assistant - takes me.”

 

"Are they treating you well?" 

 

"Everyone has been very nice. Too nice."

 

"I know the feeling. Everyone keeps saying they'll put me on the next transport. But… So far no one has said anything about when that is. They are all nice...but…" 

 

"You think - they are...going to let you go?" 

 

"Between us Rey, I think this is probably the nicest prison I’ve ever been in. I guess - from their side I get it. Where I’m from...I’m too valuable to their cause… or something." 

 

He doesn’t intend to guilt her into leaving, he doesn’t want her to feel bad - but the words just…. come out. Her breath stutters. “Finn…”

 

“I know, I know. I get it. Sorry.”

 

“No, Finn. I promise. When I’m done, I’ll come back - we’ll steal a ship - just…”  _ hold on for a second. Keep still.  _

 

The regret of even mentioning it twists his stomach into a tight knot and he closes his eyes - reminding himself once more of how terrible a friend he is. He tries to change the topic.

 

“Have you seen the prince?”

 

“Here and there. He’s...avoiding me?” She huffs out a frustrated breath. “It’s really hard. Everyone looks at me like I’m suspicious, odd. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”

 

“Making friends is hard. But you have to try. I really think you should try visiting his flight crew. It’s a start.”

 

“It’s a start.”

  
  


*

 

“Rey!”  Korra   shouts the moment she steps on the landing platform housing Ben’s ship and Rey feels her shoulders tighten with surprise and slowly raises her hand in a half hearted greeting. “Hullo-”

 

“Wait, is that Rey? Oh hi!”  Brixen  exclaims and pulls himself out from the hull of a small X-wing, grease and oil smudging his face. “How are you! Has Casterfo chased you back to us?”

 

“Oh...oh no...I...no,” Rey rubs her neck, feeling far too clean and proper for the crowd. “Just came by to see how you all were doing.” 

 

Korra  approaches and pulls her into a tight familiar hug, “You silly girl! Took you too long”. Rey freezes and struggles to reciprocate, her hands softly patting the  humanoid  back, muttering into the soft padding of the technician’s outfit, “I wanted to come...sooner”.

 

“That wasn’t soon enough! Two weeks Rey!”  Korra  pulls away and drags her back to the rest of the crew who are all smiles. Some work, while others watch a  Five Sabers  race on a holo in the back, sitting on improvised chairs and leftover crates. They wave at her.

 

They seem awfully relaxed. More so than on Birren. 

 

Brixen  hands her a cup of foul smelling liquid and winks, “Made it myself. You might need to take it easy though, if you aren’t used to it.” Rey sniffs and grimaces, sipping the bitter wine. “This is awful,” she blurts out. He laughs, silently agreeing, before guiding her by the shoulder toward the crowd of people watching the race. 

 

Uncomfortable and slightly uneasy, Rey stands behind them, clutching the cup as she softly sips from the liquid, which improves in taste with each gulp, and she begins to watch the race. Rey has seen races on holos before, discarded in various starships, but they were of poor quality, nothing like this. This time she could see it oh so clear - the way the  Five Saber racers spin and  speed through the loops, crashing into each other. The technicians cheer when their favorite overtakes the other.

 

Rey absolutely loves this.

 

A shoulder bumps hers and  Brixen  grins at her. “So. What’s it like - hanging out with the big shots?” The liquid sloshes in her cup from the movement and she huffs a bit before admitting, “Boring.”

 

“Boring huh? I believe you! I kept telling them we could use an intern here as well.”

 

“You could?”

 

“Yeah! And someone with your talents would have fit right in.” He sighs, crossing his arms, “But it’s always the big guys getting their way. How many secretaries do they really need?”

 

“Casterfo seems pretty busy.”

 

“He a good boss to you?”

 

Rey shrugs, “He’s nice enough.”

 

“You could have much worse than him too. Even worse than our boss.”

 

She raises her eyebrows in question and Brixen stares ahead and in a low voice says, “Nothing like what the staff of Carise Sindian has to endure.”

 

Rey prods, ever so slightly, “What about her?”

 

“Last I heard she forced them on some godforsaken mission to Anoat with her. They were almost blasted into a million pieces.” He sips from his own cup. “Tried to convince Senator Solo to come too.”

 

_ Wait. Who wanted Ben to go somewhere? _

 

“Who is she?”

 

“A Centrist politician. I think someone said they are distant relatives? I dunno. She’s a Centrist, that’s all I know”

 

_ Wait, some Centrist wanted Ben to go with her to Anoat...Didn’t Poe mention that he had seen something on Anoat? Were these related? _

 

“Why did she want you to go?”

 

“Who knows. Those politicians don’t care about us, we’re just pawns in their game. Expendable.”

 

The crowd applauds as their favorite racer breaks the sound barrier and immediately overtakes a competitor, and Brixen’s eyes fall on the X-wing next to her.  He frowns. “Anyone can fly that one - doesn’t matter if you lose some or you gain some. It’s a big galaxy.”

 

“No one is expendable,” Rey tries, knowing deep within her heart that even scrap has value, even scrap deserves better than this. “On Jakku, you wouldn’t be. You would be priceless.”

 

Brixen laughs, his chest shaking with mirth. “Are you trying to make us go to Jakku, Rey? Your bargaining hand is not so strong.”

 

She knows that, knows that not a lot of people see the beauty of her home planet - kriff, even she would agree with most assumptions about the barren, dusty sphere - yet, his words...sting. Her blue outfit reflects in the polished floor of the platform, and she sees it again.

 

What a fraud she is.

 

And yet, as she takes in the brightly colored hull of the ship, a lustrous yellow recently painted on, the words still spill out. “I’ve always wanted to fly an X-wing.” She allows her palm to touch the cool metal. The rest of the technicians are oblivious to their conversation. He smiles, “I would take you, but that one is a bit of a hazard.” His head swings over to the open engine hatch. “Didn’t fare too well on its last mission.”

 

“Poe Dameron said he’d take me…” she feels her face fall at reliving that promise, “But...I think he forgot.”

 

“Just gotta remind him. I’m sure he’ll take you. He loves doing that. Does it with everyone.”

 

With everyone. Sigh, of course he does. Rey is no one. No one special. She tries a smile, “I will...next time.”

 

Korra turns her head back while eating a  piece of dried nerf meat , “You could always try the  Academy , if you want to be a pilot - they are always recruiting.”

 

“A pilot?”

 

“Yeah, they are open to applications...what is it...twice a ye-”

 

“What is all of this.” A deep voice rumbles behind them and suddenly everyone scatters, shuffling away from their crates and makeshift chairs, the holo quickly turned off. Rey turns abruptly, hand still clutching the metal cup and comes face to face with the one and only…

 

Ben Solo. 

 

A particularly unhappy Ben Solo.

 

“What are you doing here?” he demands, looking her over before reaching out and grabbing her cup straight from her hand. He sniffs at the contents and grimaces, then pours it on the floor. Rey is speechless, feeling a bit lightheaded at the sight of him, her cheeks burning pink - the alcohol must be acting faster than she expected.

 

He’s wearing a simple dark tunic and his hair curls softly around his neck, as if he has just gotten out of the shower. His eyes are clear and bright and so...brown. Specks of gold dancing as he frowns at her - and she still hasn’t said anything.

 

“I-”

 

“Why are you here? Holding up my staff? If I wanted you to be here I’d pay you!” he spits. “So go back and earn your keep with Casterfo.” His form towers above her and yet she finds herself unafraid, merely...taken aback by his sudden appearance. Leia’s son turns from her, and starts to shout at the hunching backs of his staff members. His voice harsh and loud, but never cruel. 

 

Korra eyes Rey and mouths a quick ‘go’ as Ben marches towards her, shouting  _ prepare my ship, _ and only then does she notice the small form of his assistant shuffling behind him, clipboard and tablet at the ready.

 

Rey dries her mouth with the back of her hand and quickly walks away from the landing platform, wondering…

  
Is he leaving to meet up with  _ Lady Carise Sindian? _


	12. Chapter 12: Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time on Reset to Default: Rey came to Hosnian Prime to hang out with Ransolm Casterfo - and they get along - somewhat. Ben is being his usual self, which means moody and unpredictable. He is sassy with Casterfo, sassy with Rey, and a bitch. People keep telling Rey that there's someone named Carise Sindian who she should check out. 
> 
> But today - Rey will be checking out....something else. 
> 
> Mind the rating ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does the narrative make sense!? Then send your thoughts to my wonderful [ alpha reader Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder) and if it is at ALL readable, it is due to the warming presence of my [ beta reader Blessmycircuits!](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits). They work so hard and I love them. 
> 
> All the UWUS

**Chapter 12 - Leather**

  
  


_ “Han Solo!”  _

 

Maz’s voice reverberates across the cantina. Han freezes and spots the tiny orange alien from across the room.

 

All chatting stops, the music stops, and all eyes turn to the aged man at the top of the stairs.

 

With a sigh, Han gives a shaky, reluctant wave and his rough voice cheerily jabs, “Hey  _ Maz _ !”

 

Maz narrows her eyes for a second before bursting into a wide grin, and signals for the music to start up again. Humans, humanoids, and aliens alike return to their conversations. At Maz Kanata’s Cantina everyone respects everyone else’s business - stay out mine, and I’ll stay out of yours.

 

With speed unnatural for someone who has lived for a thousand years, Maz shows up at his side and tugs him towards his usual table in the back while questioning him about her boyfriend Chewie and why he is not there with him. Han brushes off her questions like a true smuggler and then an ale is shoved into his unexpecting hands.

 

“What brings you to this corner of the universe? Long time no see. I had the  Kanjiklub come looking for you a while back.”

 

“Not much, not much - just looking for some parts for the Falcon and thought I could get them cheap here.”

 

“Aaaah - so running away from something.” She squints at his lined face, “Yes. Leia is mad at you  _ again _ ?  _ Han _ -” she continues saying something in her local dialect, despite Han telling her he doesn’t understand it - again. 

 

“She doesn’t want to see me right now. Better to give her a few weeks to cool off.”

 

“You two. All this time, still?” 

 

Han shrugs and sips from his ale, picking at the fruit at the center of the table. The smoke from the roaring fire pit in the heart of the Cantina, mixed with the scent of sweat, oil, and adventure, welcomes him. It makes him relax, makes him feel good about himself.

 

He hasn’t heard a word from Leia the last month, not since leaving Rey in her care, and for a while he was unsure if they were having another cold war - over who would call first - but then he decided that it could not be the case. 

 

If she disliked Rey, Leia would have called in a heartbeat.

 

Maybe the holo silence was a good sign.

 

“You got anything good to tell me Maz? Now that I’m here anyway.”

 

At that she hesitates and gazes briefly towards the wine cellar. A finger taps against her glasses and then she says, “Not for you, but for a Jedi maybe. Any chance you are seeing Luke or your son?”

 

“No chance.” Han says matter of factly, licking his lips.

 

Despite his obvious decline, she still seems to survey him, trying to decide on something. 

 

“Tell Luke to come by one day. I have something of his. Until then -” she rummages through her clothes, through pockets, piles of tech and data cubes, before finally retrieving a small shining artifact.

 

A crystal. It shines an eerie purple hue, pulsing almost like a heartbeat, and she places it before him. “I need you to keep this safe for me. I have the feeling someone will need this from you.”

 

Han picks up the small crystal and turns it in his hand. As a non-Force user, these things always puzzled him. There seemed to be nothing special about it, no locks it could open that he couldn’t do himself with the right tools.

 

The Force had been a curse. It cursed his family. Only ever brought conflict - never peace. Han did not think of the Force as a good thing.

 

But then...this...there was something different about this crystal.

 

“Who gave you this?”

 

“An interesting man with that name of Ezra Bridger.”

  
  


_ * _

  
  


“So, what I’m saying is, Senator Casterfo - we need a stronger position on centralizing military power. Just look at what happened to  Adumari .”

 

They are at another dinner. 

 

An informal ‘business’ dinner as Casterfo likes to call it. 

 

On a  Zhellday  even.

 

He might call it business, but to Rey it is just another thinly veiled occasion for sitting and eating while listening to her boss being chastised by other Centrist politicians. Being told of how incompetent he is, how little he achieves, how horrible the Populists are.

 

The only consolation for Rey is that the food is usually good.

 

“Had we been able to enforce our will in the Senate, that disaster would clearly have been avoided!” Senator Erudo Ro-Kiintor spits, teeth bared. 

 

They are sitting in the Senate building, in Senator Ro-Kiintor’s office overlooking the park, for an early dinner consisting of three courses and plenty of wine. There’s nothing unusual about the setup, it’s always the same. 

 

Salad for an appetizer, meat as a main, and a local dish for dessert. Even the Centrist offices all look alike to her. They have the same general layout, and the colors may differ, but the furniture and decor all seem to be sourced from one location. Big, bulky, expensive desks, chairs, and couches, and, of course - plenty of Imperial memorabilia. 

 

What they choose to display is individual, but it appears that Senator Ro-Kiintor has an inclination towards weapons. Shiny, polished - and probably sharp. And in the middle of it all, a single bright red helmet of the Imperial Guard.

 

Rey gulps the wine, trying to not get too riled up, but her gaze keeps getting drawn back to the artifacts carefully exhibited on the wall. The bright red chrome gives her a sour feeling in her stomach. It reminds her of Jakku, reminds her that many out there do not possess these items merely to appreciate history.

 

Some have them to survive. 

 

For others it’s almost as if the weapons are being maintained to be reused. Kept sharp.

 

Ready for when the Empire rises again.

 

From her seat next to Casterfo at the small, glossy, round table, she is visibly clenching her jaw. Her eyes travel between the wall and to Ro-Kiintor’s silent, passive secretary, who is aimlessly picking at his food. Like he knows better than to say anything.

 

“And  _ you _ have not done your part!” the irked man from Hevurion sputters. Juice from his meat dribbles out of his mouth and down his clean shaven face, while he cuts the steak violently, almost vengefully. Rey scrunches her nose at the sight. 

 

It’s disgusting. 

 

She tries to distract herself as she cuts her own steak while pretending to keep an eye on her boss. Not that there’s a lot to keep an eye on. 

 

Casterfo sits still, half smiling, doing his best to listen to the words of his comrade, like they were not ill-intentioned, but rather of the utmost importance. 

 

He sits like someone who has been doing this for years. Like someone who knows  _ exactly _ what he is doing.

 

Ro-Kiintor’s voice is rough and his monologue never falters as he continues to lecture his colleague.

 

The words cut the air, making her flinch when one particular vocalization reverberates around the room. Yet she does not react, does not let her anger and frustration with how bad Casterfo’s Centrist party treats him affect her. Despite how much she wants to get back at them, to teach them a lesson. How could they regard so poorly a man who has shown her nothing but kindness and cooperation the last three weeks? A man who gives himself to the galaxy. Who is trying to save it.

 

Yet, she knows, as she has been told as much, that she needs to be restrained, patient and listen...listen to what they are saying. But more than that, listen to what they are saying between the lines. She is not here to fight.

 

She is here to observe.

 

Thus, Rey finds herself doing her best to distract her temper and her sense of justice, and instead become a champion at picking at her food and occupying her thoughts with other things.

 

That means she has plenty of time to just think and to reflect on her surroundings. More often than not, her thoughts turn to Leia, to Han...and in particular, their infuriating son. 

 

She wonders what he is doing right now.

 

_ Probably off ruining someone else's life. _

 

An angry sigh leaves her nose and her hand grasps the neck of the crystal wine glass as she gulps the bitter alcohol down. From the corner of her eye she sees Casterfo watching her, but she shrugs off his concern and keeps her head down, slowly eating.

 

“You are spending far too much time on welfare systems! If we are not properly prepared for when disaster strikes, when those rogue systems finally rebel, then a welfare system will be useless against bombs, laser cannons, and starships!” Ro-Kiintor almost shouts. 

 

Casterfo is still close-mouthed on his side of the table and Ro-Kiintor’s secretary has not moved at all and, like Rey, just carries on picking at his food. 

 

And that’s how the dinner goes, for what must be the better part of an hour, until Ro-Kiintor pauses his lecture to take a large gulp from his glass, which gives Casterfo a chance to finally speak. 

 

“Thank you,  _ Senator _ , I will take your words to heart. I wouldn’t mind looking into it, but I still think we should be wary of militarization - or at least not model it on the military of the days of the Clone Wars.”

 

The pale-skinned Ro-Kiintor wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, an undignified gesture for someone of his stature, Rey supposes, and he growls in a low voice, “Are you trying to stall it?”

 

“Stall? Not at all. But I think we shouldn’t be too hasty about this. Not let fear poison our minds.” Casterfo drags a hand through his grey-streaked blond hair, the first sign that his colleague is exasperating him. “It is an important and vital issue, but there are many things I believe we should do first, before looking into a centralized galactic military.”

 

Ro-Kiintor’s secretary fidgets in his seat, as though he is bracing himself for something, but his boss just sits calmly. His hand holds his fork possibly a bit tighter than before, but there’s nothing that suggests Casterfo has angered him.

 

Nothing yet.

 

Then Ro-Kiintor turns to Rey.

 

“Write that down.”

 

Surprised, fork paused at her mouth, she blinks, before gracelessly dropping the utensils and rummaging through her bag for the  holopad , unprepared for the sudden change in the meeting schedule. He is not the first to vent to Casterfo during dinner to keep things off-record before the official meetings starts. Of course Rey isn’t prepared.

 

The pencil rapidly taps against the screen as the two senators lay out their agenda for how to conclude on the topic of the day - who needs to be included, what needs to be drafted. It is a sudden change from the hostile interaction they had been submitted to just moments before, but Rey is happy to be allowed to just sit and write, enjoying the brief respite from the tension.

 

She enjoys these moments of being useful, it satisfies her immensely. Never having had any formal training or education, the possibility of practising her writing and improving herself pleases her.

 

It pleases her to be allowed to be like everyone else.

 

So she taps away, as quickly as possible, and the conversation at the table turns from politics to the upcoming summer break in a few weeks.

 

How nice it will be to have a few days off.

 

It will give them time to fix the heating in the west wing.

 

Yeah, it’s hard to work when it's freezing.

 

The other assistant summons the butler droid, who quickly removes the plates and refills their glasses. A deep and golden bowl of something looking like cold soup with floating berries and fruit is placed in the main’s stead.

 

And then Ro-Kiintor opens his mouth. 

 

“You have been distracted.”

 

Casterfo blinks, stilling the glass of dessert wine at his mouth, flicking his eyes from the bowl to his peer. “Distracted?”

 

Ro-Kiintor shrugs, twirling the fruit carefully with the back of a gold-plated spoon. “Yes. I’m not the only one who has found that you are becoming less and less supportive of the Centrist agenda. Do you think we have not noticed how you vote?” Clearly unconcerned about their respective secretaries, Ro-Kiintor leans forward. “And some even claim that you still have regular holos with  _ Leia Organa.” _

 

_ Leia?  _ Rey’s eyes dart from her holopad to the senators in a heartbeat, watching as the camaraderie they briefly shared crumbles before her eyes.

 

_ What does he know about Leia? Does he know about her? Does he know about the Resistance?  _ The panic must be clear in her eyes, because Ro-Kiintor begins to snigger.

 

Casterfo grows silent, wavering for a moment, before slowly placing the glass down. Carefully, he asks, “What about her? She’s a good friend. Always will be.” Rey stares at her boss with an unsubtle intensity, her hand grasping the spoon tightly - fearful of what he might reveal, what he might unintentional say. Perhaps a bit too quickly, his brows already drawn into a confused, wary expression, he continues, “Last time I checked, being friends with the Populists is not a crime. “

 

Ro-Kiintor mockingly laughs, “It is not.” The wine glass is topped off once more by the serving droid. “But I believe I am speaking for the most of us, when I say - we are a bit concerned that Leia still has a hold of the Senate...” 

 

Ro-Kiintor swirls the wine, his eyes never leaving Casterfo’s, “...through you.”

 

Deafening silence follows.

 

Rey is still holding her spoon tightly, feeling a rush of adrenaline through her veins, lips tight, eyes wide. But Casterfo merely leans back, ignoring the wild look she gives him. 

 

As always, he remains cool and collected, but when he finally speaks, there’s an edge to his voice. “And she  _ left _ six years ago. ‘Spose she was influencing me. One would assume you would have called me out sooner?”

 

“You put far too much trust in her. A Rebellion legend she may be - but if you ask me, she takes much more after her  _ father. _ ”

 

_ Her father? _

 

This time the confusion is clear on Casterfo’s face, he makes no conscious attempt at masking it. “Bail Organa? Sorry Senator, I don’t understand wh…”

 

Ro-Kiintor laughs, actually laughs, “Oh..no..no, no, no - she is far more manipulative and reckless than him. She has too much in her from her  _ true _ father. He was skilled at swaying people - especially through  _ force. _ ” The grin remains, and the laugh becomes more of a hearty chuckle. “You might have met him I think? On Riosa?”

 

_ Wait? Who did Casterfo meet on Riosa? Leia’s father? He knows him? _

 

Casterfo stops, his jaw clenched so tightly that his lips turn white, and even Rey has stopped pretending that she is not listening, eyes intent on the smirking Ro-Kiintor. Casterfo taps a finger lightly on the table, waiting, thinking. 

 

Then he raises his chin, “I don’t like what you are suggesting and I don’t appreciate you running around spreading rumors. It is public knowledge that Leia and Luke are war orphans.”

 

“Orphans might be a stretch.”

 

“Then why not come forward sooner?”

 

“Some things need an opportune moment, we are looking for one.” Ro-kiintor says, as if they are not discussing something as controversial as it appears. Thoughts race through her mind - who did Casterfo meet? It must be someone bad, the way his face appears drained of all color. 

 

“Her son though...I think the news would please him...Carise thinks he might jump ship soon and join our cause. The Populist agenda has always been a faulty one...”

 

“ _ Senator,”  _ Casterfo hisses.

 

A nasty grin forms on his face, his crooked teeth showing. “So she hasn’t told you?”

 

“There is no need to. It is not true,” Casterfo huffs, peeved. He gives a brief glance to Rey, who at this point just settles for frowning at the other Centrist politician while her hand digs into the armrest of her chair.

 

There’s a pause, and then Ro-Kiintor leans back. “Hmm, I assume you aren’t such good friends after all then. Perhaps we were mistaken..” Placing a finger on his chin in thought, he continues, “...or your relationship has always been kind of one-sided. Leia is not much of a looker these days either...” he says, glancing at Rey. Casterfo gapes, actually gapes, at the suggestion that he and...Leia...and - ”... her beauty, vanished alongside Alderaan - perhaps she would have been better off had she remained there when Vader blew it up. Stopped that Rebellion from truly-”

 

“ _ Hey _ !” Rey shouts, and before Casterfo even manages to intervene she is out of her chair and charging at Ro-Kiintor, pointing her spoon at him like a trusted weapon. “What did you just say!?”

 

Ro-Kiintor, surprised, looks as if he only just now truly noticed that it is not Casterfo’s usual secretary who is attending the meeting.

 

No.

 

It’s Rey. 

 

A scavenger of Jakku. Angry, red-faced, panting. 

 

She jabs the spoon even closer towards him, snarling, “What did you just say about Leia!?”

 

Someone calls her name in the background. 

 

“Answer me!” she growls, and just as he opens his mouth to respond, Casterfo grabs her by the arm, yanking her back hard. 

 

He spits, “Stop.”

 

“But..but..He said tha-!”

 

“Wait outside.”

 

“He’s lying! He’s lying about Leia!”

 

“Wait outside!”

 

“Si-!”

 

“Out!”

 

And without even giving her a chance to explain herself, he pulls her through the doors, and tosses her out so she stumbles into the hall. By the time she turns around, all she sees are the doors closed in her face.

 

“Kriff.”

 

*

  
  


Once she finishes taking out her anger on a trashcan in the corner, examining the dents in the surface with something akin to pride, she slumps over on a small speeder platform overlooking the vast blue ocean to the west. Above her stretch the open durasteel arches that lead into one of the many foyers of the Senate, the complex steel construction fracturing the sun’s light into beautiful patterns on the  Ebonite floor.

 

Yet, she doesn’t find the time to appreciate it, to dwell on it.

 

Not when the anger simmers, on the verge of reaching a boil, just below her skin. 

 

Her head rests against the durasteel frame of the arch, finding its coolness soothing to her hot blood. Until she notices it. A thread fraying on the hem of her grey coat. She yearns to pull it, to watch it come undone, and her fingers caress the single stray as she contemplates what to do with it.

 

Above her and beneath her the air taxies speed ahead, bringing with them people of importance, going about their day, knowing exactly what they want to achieve. They are some of the galaxy's most successful people. 

 

Their clothes probably aren’t unraveling but are instead well-tailored, meant to be exactly the way they are. They are not unraveling the way she is. In her mass-manufactured tunic and pants, meant to evoke an appearance she knows is not truthful. That she is ordinary. Normal.

 

A lie, which Casterfo now knows too.

 

She inhales a shaky sigh, trying to sweep the anger and the sadness underneath her well-worn mental rug. 

 

And then she pulls the thread. 

 

It snaps clean off, leaving no trace of ever having been there, looking like it was just meant to be. Stitches perfectly aligned.

 

On Jakku, unraveling didn’t make you stand out. On Jakku it only told the tale of how hard you had worked, how much you earned it the next day. Suffering was something to be proud of.

 

Unraveling on Hosnian Prime only showed that you failed. There is nothing to be earned by it here. 

 

Rey looks up to suddenly find an air taxi zooming towards the platform she’s resting at. Stumbling, she quickly rises to her feet, placing a hand on her knee to steady herself, pulling herself up by the railings. 

 

It brakes next to the landing, hovering almost silently as its hydraulic doors swing up to reveal a perfectly made-up Senator, a female human with deep black hair and a shiny ice-blue dress with a long translucent train. She exits the taxi gracefully with quick strides, followed by a couple of assistants and interns. Her entourage.

 

Her assistants are much more nicely dressed than Rey is.

 

Not a single glance is wasted on Rey as she steps aside, trying her best to melt into the steel walls of the building. They speak not a word to one another and their feet move hastily, unconcerned with their surroundings, which allows Rey to take in the impeccably dressed woman and the way she commands the corridors of the Senate. People make way for her, giving her small curtsies and nods. She reciprocates none of the gestures.

 

Until she suddenly stops and nods at a fellow Senator.

 

And not just any Senator. No. Of course not. Rey stiffens as she recognizes, even from this distance, the tall, brooding son of Leia.

 

Of course she is nodding at  _ Ben Solo _ . Interrupting what looked like a heated debate with a significantly shorter humanoid.

 

Leia’s son looks mildly puzzled at the female senator’s attention, but nods back, somewhat. Just a hint of a dip of his chin, his black embroidered side cape is the only thing that gives any indication that he actually moved - and then the beautiful woman is off again.

 

With little thought as to why, Rey jumps to attention, straightens her back like a pupil trying to avoid getting caught doing something improper and just...stares. Stares at how he needs to bend his neck to have a conversation, the way his clothes shimmer silver in the fluorescent light, and at that one stray curl escaping his perfectly coiffed hair.

 

Her hands rapidly brush against the front of her outfit, attempting to unwrinkle it from her time on the platform. Trying not to think too hard about why she felt the sudden need to do so.

 

And then, as if he feels her eyes boring into his back, his head flicks over to her form.

 

Rey feels her breath stutter.

 

He pauses, mouth slightly agape. And then she raises her chin, tightening her lips in an invitation, a challenge. 

 

_ I am not scared of you.  _

 

The corridors are full, the sound of shoes clicking against the floor fill her ears and the rush of colorful uniforms and gowns fills her vision, yet all she sees is him, straightening his spine as he takes her in, considering her invitation. The alien keeps talking next to him, unaware that Senator Solo’s attention has been diverted.

 

WIthout any warning, panic sets in and dread knots her stomach tightly. She knows full well that he can see how puffy and red her eyes are, how pale her exhausted face is. She looks like someone who has been to hell and back, and  _ what did she just encourage him to do!? _ But it’s too late now, she cannot turn back. Cannot give into to her instincts and look away or flee. 

 

He doesn’t intimidate her. 

 

_ And she wants that to be very clear!  _

 

The conversation with the smaller alien ends abruptly with a brief gesture from the senator’s hand, but never once do his eyes stray from her. It bothers her that it is relief that flutters through her body when she recognizes that his attention is solely on her.

 

That someone recognizes her. 

 

Then, with slow  _ timid _ steps, he treads towards her. His eyes are narrowed in concentration, as if he is not sure of her intentions.

 

She flexes her shoulders in response, suddenly overwhelmed, and wonders if she could just jump down from the landing, do some cool Jedi move and steal a hoverbike. Maybe she could run away? Avoid that inevitable conversation she will have with Casterfo and not look at that curl-

 

“Rey?” Senator Solo bids, face tilted to the side, mouth moving in a secret thought. Still some distance away. 

 

“Senator.” She tries to say it in her firmest voice, hands clenched at her sides, sniffing. If he notices her tension or the residue of her anguish, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he glances around, curious.

 

His eyes are bright russet and shiny, cheeks pink and healthy. Like he has has managed to catch some sleep. Rey envies him for that, she thinks, as his gaze returns to her, and for a towering man who she has seen yell at plenty of people, and even thrown stuff at them, he appears almost...shy.

 

“Where’s Casterfo?”

 

The question catches her off guard, distracted by his unusual demeanor. Lacking a proper well thought-out response, she resorts to just shrugging her shoulders, trying to give off an air of aloofness and nonchalance. “At  _ some _ meeting”, her hand removes some imaginary dust on the front of her shirt as she avoids his inquisitive eyes.

 

Almost uncharacteristically dithering, he hums in reply, looking over his shoulder at the crowd of senators and assistants moving about. “And you are not in the meeting?”

 

“Does it look like I’m in a meeting?”

 

The senator’s lips tug at the edges, while he folds his hands behind his back, keeping a sensible distance between them. He doesn’t fill the space in front of her per se, but Rey finds that he is much too close and too... _ here _ ... His cologne is soft in the air, invading her senses, and she finds the urge to yell at him, to criticize his personal hygiene, is at the forefront of her mind, and _ who does he think he is impressin- _

 

“How are you?” he asks, out of nowhere.

 

“What?”

 

His Adam’s apple bobs, and he tries again. “You are well?” She sees him look at the red rim around her eyes. “I have not seen you since I last caught you sneaking around in the hangars.” _ Is he trying to be...funny? _

 

“Oi!” Rey stiffens, pushing her chest forward in defiance, “I was just catching up with some friends!”

 

“Friends, huh?”

 

“Yeah!  _ Friends.” _

 

“Good. Good for you.” The mirth falters a bit, but it's there, just softly pulling at the edges of his mouth. She folds her arms across her chest as though offended, holding her chin high, trying to deflect his obvious humour at her expense. “Yeah. Good for me,” she blurts and at that he nods and brushes his feet against some of the loose gravel on the Ebonite floors. Their reflections shine back at them. Her hair is a mess. His is perfectly made. She fights the urge to fix hers. 

 

No one spares them a glance, they’re all too busy going about their day to consider why two simple humans stand on an air taxi landing with nothing to say to one another. Rey thinks about it too, why there is this uncertain silence as neither speaks, nor walks away. 

 

As if there are things  _ to be _ said. 

 

Maybe they only know how to fight? She considers it. Maybe she could fight him right now? It would be good for her system. Lay another punch on his face. He has probably done something to deserve it. Which reminds her…

 

“I heard something about you today.”

 

He blinks, caught off guard,  _ was he staring at her mouth?  _ “You have?”

 

“Yeah, how will you explain to your mother that you are jumping ship?” There’s is bitterness in her voice, despite her intention to say it in a cool, somber voice. 

 

“Jumping ship?” He draws his eyebrows, blinking quickly as if genuinely having no idea what she is talking about.

 

Rey steps into his space, spotting his hands flexing, and looks up at him. Ready to charge at him. “Ro-Kiintor says he heard that you are going to join the Centrists? Is that true?”

 

His shoulders sag in relief, and he audibly groans, “People say many things.”

 

“Stop deflecting.” She’s steadfast, she won’t let him get away from this. He pouts at her accusation, and straightens his spine, squinting slightly from the setting sun. “Who told him?” It's a question, but from the way he says it, Rey knows it's not an option to lie. 

 

Not that she intended to.

 

“Senator Sindian. Your  _ friend _ .”

 

A half-groan, half-sigh escapes his throat at the name, and then he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.  _ Of course. _

 

“Well?” Her foot taps dramatically on the hard floor, intent on waiting him out. “Is it true?”

 

Without any warning, he reaches with his gloved hand for her left forearm, swiftly proclaiming, “Let’s go for a walk.”

 

Surprised and appalled, she quickly pulls away, gasping a squeaky “ _ Hey _ !” and pressing her arm firmly into her back.  _ Like hell she’ll let him touch her. _

 

The senator stills, eyebrows furrowing at her intense reaction. He looks slightly...hurt? Yet an amused glint remain in his gold-flecked eyes, and at her stubborn pouting mouth, he surrenders. “Alright, this way,” - and opens his arms to let her pass through.

 

Rey is not sure why she follows him.

  
  


*

  
  


There is a conveniently-placed courtyard within the center of the Senate complex. A lush indoor garden, an orangerie of sorts with exotic wild plants, humming insects, and perhaps some of the most beautiful landscape architecture she has seen ...well...anywhere. Or at all. Details carved deep into the surrounding columns with geometric shapes and patterns. 

 

It looks old. 

 

“They are from a Jedi temple on  Ledeve .” Senator Solo remarks next to her, almost as if he sensed the direction of her thought, probably watching her thumb trace a flower sculpted into the granite surface. “Archeologists date them to be at least 10,000 standard years old.” She scoots a bit further away from him, welcoming the distance. 

 

“How do you know this?” she mumbles.

 

“It was my uncle who brought them here.”  _ Oh, right. His uncle. Luke Skywalker - The Jedi. _ Rey feels almost embarrassed how she sometimes forgets who he is to the galaxy. Leia’s son is not just a senator, his family is Han Solo, Leia Organa...and kriffing Luke Skywalker. The Luke Skywalker. 

 

She awkwardly remembers how she’d use to sit in half-scavenged X-wings, pulling at the controls, pretending she was Luke using the Force. Oh how she’d gun down the Empire, how she’d lift them off their feet. Reenacting every story she had ever been told. Using glow sticks as lightsabers. 

 

And the obnoxious senator has probably heard all those stories firsthand, in front of a fire, drinking a cup of tea with Luke, because well...He is his uncle. How Leia would have pulled him close to her, as they’d sit long into the night, while the Rebellion heroes would tell story upon story.

 

Her throat tightens at the thought.

 

Rey has never had anyone pull her close by a fire.

 

Never had anyone tell her about adventures, or offered her a hot drink in comfort.

 

She eyes the senator next to her, sees him admiring the columns, and with her throat still tight, Rey takes a few spiteful steps away from him, walking ahead into the garden while grumbling lowly to herself.

 

It takes a while, longer than she expects, but after a beat or two she hears the sound of his shiny boots treading on the  Jelucani fogstone path. There are several people walking the rounds of the planned garden and she almost doesn’t hear him, when he starts to speak in a low rumble.

 

“I’m not switching to the Centrists.” 

 

He says it like the knowledge would make her happy. Like he is trying to improve her mood. From the corner of her eye, she can see him inspecting a small flower, pulling at the stem.

 

Frustrated, green with envy, and full of dark thoughts, she twirls around to him, snarling, “Stop lying!”

 

He stops, his fingers still clutching the red plom bloom. Surprised at her outburst. 

 

“I’m not lying.”

 

“You are always lying. About everything. You are no different than anyone else here in this goddamn place!”

 

There’s an intention there, careful and unhurried, the way he spends his time surveying her, the lighter mood from the landing replaced with a sudden seriousness. She freezes like a  Wampa in headlights. He steps ever  _ so slightly _ closer, the light from glass roof casting him in a deep shadow as he passes a column. “What happened?”

 

“What?”

 

“You are upset. Why?”

 

“Because you are lying!” A couple under a canopy looks at them, but then quickly moves away, aware of the private moment unfolding.

 

“No. That’s not it.” He firmly plucks the flower, eyes never straying from her. Rey looks away, not wanting to get into what happened at the meeting with  _ him _ . Like he would understand what it’s like to feel alone and useless-

 

“You need to be careful, Rey.”

 

_ What? _

 

“Careful?”

 

“There are many eyes and ears here. Even here, in this garden, no secret is safe.” He looks up at the windows stretching a few stories up, before once again settling his eyes on her. Rey feels her throat drying and quickly averts her gaze - almost ashamed. “I know.” She mumbles.  _ Does he think she is stupid? _

 

This is a waste of time. What did she expect? That he’d be honest with her? Genuine? He is obviously hiding something, like always - she should have known better than to -

 

“Rey.”

 

_ What is going to do with that flower?  _ She wonders, walking away from him, ignoring him. Her fingers tug at the leaves of the bushes.

 

He carries on undeterred, “I don’t want you to try anything with Sindian.” 

 

_ Sindian _ ?

 

She scrunches her nose, and side glances at him. His precarious expression out of place, odd, like he genuinely believes his advice, like he  _ cares _ , like he...like she...could it be?

 

“Why?” 

 

He visibly stiffens at that, but doesn’t reply. His mouth is tight and his gloved hands clench and release repeatedly. 

 

_ Aha. So one of his tactics is to say nothing. _

 

“Ben -” his eyes widen at her saying his name, “- Why should I not try  _ anything  _ with Sindian?” she tries to say in a low voice, careful of the couple walking a few paces behind them. “I’m not scared of her.”

 

“I know you aren’t.”

 

“Then tell me the truth. _ Last chance _ .”

 

“ _ Rey… _ ” He says, voice taut, begging her to stop pursuing this. 

 

“Fine! Explain to me something else then...” she spits, wounded, angry, frustrated about this whole day and the men who occupy it. Frustrated about her lack of progress, how no one trusts her and she doesn’t know how to do any of it, and she misses Jakku - 

 

So, with little thought, and even less of a plan, Rey steps closer to him, very close. “Ro-Kiintor said something else today.” The senator moves back at her sudden intrusion into his personal space, yet his eyes are unwavering, like he is daring her continue, like he needs her to say the words. They need to be spoken aloud. 

 

“He said he knew  _ who _ your mother’s  _ true _ father is. And that you’d  _ want _ to know. That the truth will ruin you - will destroy your family.”

 

Senator Solo’s eyes widen, surprised - like he didn’t expect  _ this  _ to be her accusation. “Leia? She’s an orphan. There are no records of her birth parents.” He states it like a truth he has had to say many times.

 

“He said Casterfo has met her father. And that he had hurt him.”

 

“Don’t believe everything people tell you.” 

 

“Should I believe you?” she says stubbornly, her feet almost touching his, eyes locked. His cologne occupying her all of senses, his chest warm against hers, despite there being several inches between them. She snarls, “Or are you just a monster?”

 

He stiffens, but doesn’t reply immediately, allowing his eyes travel across her face, mouth tight and moving, looking angry, hurt, amazed -

 

Before something overtakes him, a rush of confidence, because he carefully leans down and tilts his head to the left. Rey refuses to move, even with her heartbeat fluttering in her chest, despite wanting to run, to push him away - and then she feels it - his breath against her ear and a soft whisper - “I am a monster.”

 

Their breaths are quick and she snaps her head to the side, probably to scold him, to tell him  _ Yes, he is a monster _ , how he lies all the time - but neither happens. 

 

Instead her gaze falls to his lips. Parted, softly breathing, huffing against the softness of her cheeks. She wets her lips, arms pinned to her sides, refusing to move, refusing him. Yet she tentatively tilts her head to the side, heart in her throat, because maybe…

 

_ The prickle in her neck suddenly springs to life, excited, happy, urging her - yes, yes, close the gap, let him… _

 

She pushes him.

 

Violently, harshly, she pushes herself away, removing him from her space, removing him from her sight.

 

He grunts at the force of her shove, his mouth gaping in surprise, even as his eyes narrow with ...hurt?

 

With throbbing anger in her veins, Rey briskly marches to the nearest exit, her hands clutching her burning chest and knowing one thing only: 

 

_ He is no different than anyone else. _

 

_ Why would she hope for him to be otherwise? _

 

“Rey?!” the panicked voice of the senator calls, but this time she doesn’t stop, denying him the satisfaction of seeing her reaction. Determined to show him her back, to show him that he holds no power over her.

 

And just as she is about to exit the garden through the massive blast door, it opens -

 

To reveal the one person she wants to see even less -

 

Casterfo.

  
  


*

  
  


Casterfo is fuming as he takes purposeful strides towards the air taxi platforms, his fingers digging firmly into Rey’s arm, dragging her through the Senate building. Senator Solo remains a few paces behind them. 

 

She stumbles over her feet a bit and the feeling of Senator Solo’s eyes burning into her back is uncomfortable, especially the way she can almost hear his questions. So Rey resorts to staring at the ground, resolving that she should never be left alone with Leia’s son - ever...ever...again!

 

Casterfo pulls her slightly closer, hissing into her ear, “Where did you go? I looked everywhere for you!” 

 

“I-” she begins, “he invited me for a walk.”

 

Casterfo scoffs angrily while running a hand through his hair. “You and I are not done. We are gonna  _ talk _ about that little stunt you pulled in there.”

 

“He deserved it!” Rey hisses back, pulling back gently from his grasp, making her intentions clear. 

 

“Kriff Rey. You are gonna blow our cover like this!” He tugs back, “I am going to have a talk with Leia about this. I can’t believe she’d send someone who can’t kriffing keep their cool,” he mutters, mostly to himself. He glances back at Senator Solo, who is still following them intently, while Rey stares straight ahead. 

 

Then they arrive at the taxi platform and as they wait, Senator Solo remains with them, making awkward small talk with an obviously not-in-the-mood Casterfo. Rey fumes and agonizes, on the verge of jumping, crying, and fighting all at once. Her face is flushed and pale at the same time, but she manages to keep still.

 

She stays still for what feels like an eternity. 

 

And then the taxi arrives.

 

Finally.

 

Casterfo releases her to shake Ben’s hand. “Thank you for keeping an eye out for this one - But we need to get back now. Good day, Senator Solo.” And he climbs into speeder, telling the taxi driver their destination.

 

Rey follows him immediately, grabbing the side of the speeder door, and just as she begins to climb in, a warm, gloved hand lightly takes hers and guides her into the seat. Her head snaps to Senator Solo, and while his hand holds hers barely a second or two, its touch burns like wildfire as soon as he releases her. His face unreadable as she stares at him, confounded, her hand still hanging in the air where he left it.

 

He nods and a small “take care” escapes him before he abruptly turns around, walking back into the Senate building.

 

Even as the speeder races away at great speed, she doesn’t miss how his hand flexes against his side, rubbing his fingers together.

 

Rey feels as winded as if she just ran a mile.

 

Casterfo refuses to even look at her.

 

*

 

That evening Rey and Casterfo fight. 

 

He tells her twice to pack her stuff.

 

She refuses both times.

 

Leia ultimately decides to let Rey stay.

 

Casterfo doesn’t bid her goodnight. 

 

Rey has never felt so alone.

 

*

 

_ That night Rey dreams. _

 

_ But she dreams of things she only seldom dreams. _

 

_ She dreams of a man, unseen, but she feels his presence nonetheless. He’s hovering behind her, tall, warm, and dark. In this dream she does not see him, but she feels him.  _

 

_ She feels him all over. _

 

_ She dreams his hand brushes against her nape, leather gloves trailing lightly across her shoulders, trailing across her shoulder blades and then down her arm. She dreams the touch, but the goosebumps are real, the heaviness at her core is real. _

 

_ She dreams the leather-clad hands circle her waist. She dreams herself naked, bare, fully exposed to his touch. The dark and shiny fabric thumbs softly at the underside of her breast, tracing secret patterns across her pale flesh. Her nipple stiffens, and almost as if that had been the secret password, the hand encloses the entirety of her breast. Kneading it with such care and affection, with attention she does not deserve.  _

 

_ The sigh she exhales is real.  _

 

_ She dreams of plush, plump lips that kiss  _ that  _ spot, just behind her ear. The kiss is a dream, but her gasp is not. Her legs hum and tickle with excitement and then the other hand, the left, curls around her waist. With less softness than the other, it grabs - pulling her back, into the warmth of an unseen chest. _

 

_ Rey has never felt so safe and loved and so -  _ present _.  _

 

_ A whimper escapes her throat. _

 

_ She dreams the rough hand moves, slowly, torturously towards  _ that  _ place, her storm, her warm heavy seat, that place she so seldom has touched, but where she needs this hand to go - so - so - badly. _

 

_ “Please...”  _

 

_ No reply. _

 

_ “Please.” _

 

_ She dreams the leather squeaks, caresses her, mild and enticing, and she finally opens her eyes to see, as it moves across her mound, and around and around and… _

 

_ She gasps when a single digit moves between her lips. Parting her and easing her open. _

 

_ Rey wants to cry. _

 

_ But she is never allowed to, because she stares transfixed, as the black leather begins to shine, coating itself on her excitement. Moving back and forth, firm, attentive.  _

 

_ It feels so hard to breathe, the air has simply vanished, replaced by an urgency. _

 

_ A need. _

 

_ Yet she hears herself gasp, _

  
  


“Ben.”

  
  


_ * _

 

Rey’s eyes spring open.

 

For a moment she’s breathless, alert, roused from sleep.

 

Only to blush horribly and whisper disbelievingly into the night;

 

“What the fuck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**
> 
> Wars? in Star Wars? Impossible. Yet they happen, and they happened at [Adumari](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Adumari_Civil_War).
> 
> Tell that to [Kanjiklub](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kanjiklub).
> 
> Traditionally only used for tables, but the word sounded awesome, so - [Ebonite](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ebonite).
> 
> Jedi temples, Jedi temples everywhere, even on [Ledeve ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ledeve).
> 
> Let’s just say the Galatic Senate has a shit ton of money in their budget for “nice stuff” aka [Jelucani fogstone](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jelucani_fogstone).
> 
> Justice for Luke. What is a [Wampa](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Wampa/Legends)?
> 
> Who is the douchebag offending our sweet Rey? [ Erudo Ro-Kiintor](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Erudo_Ro-Kiintor) and where is he from? [Hevurion](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hevurion).


	13. Chapter 13: The Elder Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time on RTD: A lot of people fucked up, Ben tried to flirt (he was bad at it) and Rey might have a leather fetish. Tune in to more plot and slightly less porn (as in none), but at least Carise looks hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does the narrative make sense!? Then send your thoughts to my wonderful [ alpha reader Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder) and if it is at ALL readable, it is due to the warming presence of my [ beta reader Blessmycircuits!](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits). They work so hard and I love them. 
> 
> All the UWUS

**Chapter 13 - The Elder Houses**

 

Casterfo has never been a fan of oatmeal.

 

Especially not the oatmeal made by his butler droid. 

 

It’s bland, unsweetened, no fruit or chocolate, served only with a glass of cold water and a steaming hot cup of caf. As uninspiring as the long nights in the Senate, debating the wording of a particular proposal. As uninspiring as the dark mines of Riosa, or his annual visit to the med bay for his health examination.

 

The root cause of his misery. 

 

_ You need to be careful with your cardiovascular health. _

 

_ You need to eat more wholegrains. _

 

_ You need to be more active, take up running. _

 

_ You are nearing your forties, and that’s when you ought  _ to be more health-conscious as  _ a human.  _

 

Those were the words his medic had said at his last checkup, and lucky for him, the med bay had decided to forward his medical records to his droid, to V4.

 

And now he was stuck with this. Dry oatmeal, no alcohol in the house, daily exercise, and monthly blood tests. 

 

He forces another lump of grey porridge into his mouth and instead of savoring the taste, he swallows it almost immediately. He is a man of determination, his iron will is what makes him push through every meal.

 

At least the caf is worth waking up for.

 

The only thing it seems.

 

He grimaces, settling back into his chair, trying not to get clawed back into the argument from yesterday. Trying to not let it be the first thing that occupies his mind, not to let it unduly influence his day as a dark lining around all his meetings, all his work.

 

And yet - it is  _ already _ the first thing occupying his mind. Trying to make sense of yesterday.

 

He finds some conclusions easy to come by, knowing fully well that Rey had overstepped her bounds and created an irreversible situation for him. Not only that, but it made their situation, their task even more impossible.

 

He knows that, is sure of that.

 

But then there are things he is less sure of, less able to resolve at this time of day. Like the strange mix of guilt and frustration he feels as he remembers the furious, heated tears that had trailed down her cheeks, how she had refused to listen to him, how she had argued her case - poorly. She was passionate and dedicated to the task for sure, but so wrong - so very wrong.

 

And then Leia had asked him to give it another try.

 

_ Another _ try. 

 

How do you give it another try when she publicly threatened another Senator? How can they come back from that!? He knows the coteries of the Senate, knows how quickly word spreads in the shining halls, knows that Ro-Kiintor is a man who speaks freely, who gossips. Even if Casterfo had managed to soften the blow and resolve the tension after he had thrown Rey out of the office, he knows the Senator will still talk. Knows he will brag. 

 

Because trust had been broken. 

 

And trust is paramount in Casterfo’s work. 

 

He audibly sighs and stares up at the Sun Glass chandelier reflecting the early morning light. 

 

Years of tentatively building camaraderie, understanding, and respect, gone in an instant. How can he win back his hard-earned trust? How will Casterfo manage to get close to those he needs information from? How is any of this possible when his charge had threatened them while under his responsibility - and she is still employed with him!

 

What message is that sending?

 

Yet, Leia wanted them to try. Wanted them to work it out. Force knows why. It would be easier to just send her away and get a new intern. 

 

But his friend, the Supreme Governor of Birren, ever willing to see the good in people, must see something he doesn’t.

 

So he chooses to  _ trust  _ her. 

 

Casterfo takes a long sip from his caf, scalding his tongue, but he finds that he doesn’t care. It almost feels right, to be punished for undertaking this, for being a fool.

 

Then his thoughts turn back to Leia, still, somewhat in disbelief that the general impression was that he...and she...and...that he could possibly feel that way about her.

 

“Casterfo?” a timid voice speaks from the dining room door. 

 

He looks up from his cup of caf, jaw tight. 

 

Rey.

 

A sigh involuntarily escapes his nose and he raises his head to look at her, his expression sharp and unrelenting, refusing to extend a greeting. She notices. 

 

The doorway is large against her form, and she spends the better part of a minute contemplating her next course of action, allowing Casterfo to take his time to look her over. He tries to ignore the slight pang of pity caused by seeing her hair undone, the red rims of her eyes, how her hands fumble, unsure, rubbing the hem of the nightshirt she has not bothered to change out of  \- which is completely inappropriate.

 

He’ll let it slide.

 

Pushing the bowl a bit away from him, letting it scratch against the wood, he leans back into his chair, crossing his arms, clearly and pointedly letting her know he will wait her out if necessary.

 

This was obviously not how she imagined this going, because she pouts, rubbing the palms of her hands together. She’s a firecracker this one, obviously not used to navigating delicate conversations. She is used to fighting. Used to settling things through strength, through aggression - not with words. Casterfo sees this now, and he will give her this much: she is brave, a good soldier, and a survivor, determined - sort of like he was before he ventured into politics - and for that he admires her. Yet, her merits are undesirable and inappropriate for this situation and she knows it, because then she swallows her desire to fight it out and instead chooses to -  _ talk about it _ .

 

“I am sorry.”

 

“I know you are.” He is stoic.

 

Her lips press together at his firm reply, and she shifts on her feet, perhaps surprised that he is still so angry. Surprised that his amiable mood the last couple of wee ks has dissipated. He is too, if he had to be honest, but back then she hadn’t been about to expose the whole operation. Hadn’t insulted him to his face by being so tactless.

 

“What do you want me to do?” she tries.

 

“There’s nothing you can do.” He leans forward and collects his cutlery and bowl, knowing full well his droid can clean up after him, but he needs to move - needs to do something other than just sit still and watch her desperation unfold. 

 

“You messed up -” he licks the back of the spoon as he moves into the kitchen, depositing it loudly in the sink. He hears her feet following him, eager to please, eager to make amends. “- And I can’t have you come back with me. Not without putting everything and everyone at risk.” 

 

She draws a shaky breath, obviously trying to calm herself and not allow the fire burning inside her to take over. He hears her fingers twist the fabric again, probably trying to hold back the worst of her insults and arguments, knowing full well that none of them worked yesterday. 

 

She learns fast and she wants to make amends, but Casterfo is not sure how. Or if there are  _ any _ amends that can be made. 

 

“I didn’t mean to -”

 

“I know. You told me.”

 

“Casterfo-” she almost begs, “I know I can be useful. It was a mistake.”

 

He leaves her in the kitchen, moving to the hallway to open his closet and grab his long  coarseweave Senatorial cape, having to look presentable today in the  Senate chamber . She stubbornly chases after him, fully intending to resolve this before he leaves, and at seeing her in the door, brow furrowed and mouth tight, he relents. 

 

“It is a mistake that can’t be undone, Rey.” He pulls the cape over his shoulder and fastens it with a click. “Rumors spread fast. Gathering intelligence is not just about listening, it's about gaining confidence. You broke that trust yesterday - and if you aren’t trusted, then I can’t take you with me.” Casterfo finally looks at her, expecting her to be hurt, broken by his words. 

 

But she is unrelenting. 

 

“I can make them trust me-!” Her eyes are on him, hazel, sharp, and intent. 

 

“Rey, stop it.”

 

“No. I know I’m useful! Let me try at it again - I can go into the hangars -”

 

This time he stops the argument, tries to break the impasse, raising his hand as he gives a defeated sigh. “Why aren’t you listening to what I’m saying Rey?”

 

“I am!” She throws her arms in front of her, obviously desperate and nearing a tantrum. 

 

“Clearly not,” he hisses, not ready to be this mentally exhausted, and not having even begun his day. “You are  _ not _ trusted. I can’t  _ trust _ you. When there is no trust, then there is no harmony. We simply do not have the ability to carry on as a team!”

 

“I...it was a mistake…”

 

“Yes. It was. But some mistakes have  _ repercussions _ . We cannot recover from this.”

 

“Casterfo-” she tries, but before she even manages to finish her sentence, he reaches out for the staff resting against the wall. Left by him last night after he had to unburden some of his anger. He throws his training staff at her. She catches it with ease.

 

“Here. Take this. I have a meeting I need to attend. Kelko will be here shortly. Go to the training room, I know you know how to use a staff. If you need to blow off whatever steam you still have, you can practice.”

 

Her hands grip the staff tightly, like a true warrior, but her face reflects none of it. Only the sheer impact of the realization that she has truly made a mess of it. She pleads with him to take her with him.

 

But she is not even dressed.

 

Casterfo doesn’t have time for this effrontery.

  
  


_ * _

  
  


Yavin 4 is not an exciting place anymore.

 

While the remnants of war can still be found scattered across the jungle, in the pyramids, in the corners of the small traces of civilization it still houses, the war has long since passed.

 

And with it, the excitement, the glory, and the purpose it created.

 

The way it could distract from unwanted memories, keep your thoughts occupied.

 

There is not much to occupy his thoughts now, they are almost wild and untamed. Like  Fathiers racing across the fields of barley. With no purpose or plan. 

 

Luke thinks that Yavin 4 is boring. 

 

Or maybe it’s that training the next generation of Jedi can be boring. 

 

He leans against the  Gratenite stone wall of the meditation chamber as he watches a handful of  _ now adult  _ students attempt to teach the newest batch how to properly navigate the essentials of connecting with the Force. They are young. All of them. So young. Even the  _ adults  _ have barely entered their twenties. All of them struggling to make sense of those feelings inside of them. The whispers, the dreams. 

 

The new batch is even younger than the first.

 

Luke is not sure why that bothers him.

 

It reminds him of the first days of the academy, when he had decided to take on Ben. How his young nephew had struggled to control, to curb the Force, so strong, so violent within him. It had never been like that for Luke. It had always been a low simmer, a calm whisper in the back of his mind. More like an ever-present companion than a violent intruder. Had Obi-Wan never told him, Luke probably would never have discovered the Force as he has now. Never learned what this instinct was, this attunement with the world. How to feel both at peace and at odds with everything around him. 

 

Luke, the Last Jedi, hero of the Rebellion. A strong and powerful Force user.

 

All of the m true, but only from a certain point of view.

 

He would gladly admit, to any man, that while he may be strong with the Force, finding the Force had always been a struggle. The Force seldom finds him, it is Luke who has to seek it out. Even now. The path of a Jedi for him had been one full of trying, failing, and trying again. It still is.

 

And so it appears to be with his students as well.

 

Yet.

 

Ben had been different. 

 

The connection between the Force and his nephew was something Luke had never seen. It had thrown Luke off. It had scared him. Because while he knows how to seek out the Force, he has no idea what to do when the Force seeks  _ you  _ out. When it desperately wants something, when it blazes around you, taunting, insistent, like a child demanding attention. 

 

That is how Luke would describe the Force and Ben. The way it would prowl around him, attack him in his sleep, show up into bursts of sudden power, only to disappear all of a sudden.

 

Luke had never had a relationship with the Force like that. 

 

None of his other students had ever been like that either.

 

To them, it is always a struggle to find the Force. Always a struggle to find your power.

 

No one had to learn how to curb it.  

 

A growl escapes one of the twelve-year-olds, who violently throws his fist into the floor, only to receive a comforting hand from one of Luke’s elder students. He can’t hear the words, but he senses that they are soothing, easy, and the student visibly calms.

 

Luke feels pride for his students, and a small smile tugs at the edges of his mouth while his hand rubs the beard that grows grayer by the day. 

 

Another student seems about to enter a trance but is continuously thrown out of it by the water dripping from the roof. It has a calming effect on some, but not on others. She will have to learn how to tune it out, Luke agrees - finding the Force will not always be as easy as it will be in this chamber. Here it is strong, easy to access, its threads spinning across the entire room. Even with all the ferrocrete. 

 

She will learn. 

 

He gazes around the  polyhedron shaped room, the top of the temple, taking in its sheer size and history, how the small but long and narrow windows let in the humid air and allow the light to create a massive, intricate pattern on the floor, casting everything in shades, rather than pure light or pure darkness.

 

Luke thinks the Jedi of the ancient past may be trying to tell him something, may be trying to show him a truth, it feels so close. Even his dreams are becoming more and more violent lately. As if the Force has something for him to know. 

 

But what?

 

“Master Luke!” one of his elder students hails, his hand beckoning him to come closer. Luke hastily walks towards the pair, an older student and a new one, and drops down next to the younger one. A Ghular, obviously thrown into a trance, mouth agape, otherwise seeming alright - but...

 

Luke places a hand on the sweaty forehead of the young  Ghular.  His older student whispers, “I tried to stop her from going too deep, but it's like she latched onto something.” The new student tremors slightly, hand flexing underneath it all - and Luke feels it, the darkness.

 

“I need to see.” The Last Jedi says, determined, allowing his student to scoot a bit back, giving his master space. Knowing full well that he is too young and not up to the task.

 

Luke extends his fingers on his remaining hand, feeling it tingle as he pulls on the Force around him, sensing that it is indeed the  _ Force _ at work and not a  _ Force user _ trying to infiltrate the Academy.

 

But what does the Force want?

 

Something is wrong.

 

Luke closes his eyes, clenching them hard and then pushes. He enters the young  Ghular’s mind.

 

He hates doing this.

 

Her mind is quiet at first, like her spirit has disappeared, as if it is resting. But then the darkness clears, the quiet dissipates, and he sees it - the galaxy, the clouds of gas. He is swirling, moving, speeding towards something. The  Ghular is frightened, having been fully seized by the Force unknowingly. She is trying to fight it, trying to escape.

 

But it won’t let her.

 

Why?

 

They travel, seeing white pathways emerge, circles of different natures, with symbols of old and new. Some he recognizes from his journey for Jedi relics - others he doesn’t. They are glowing, swirling, disappearing and then reappearing. Popping in and out of his vision. Faster and faster and faster and then…they’re gone.

 

And all the remains are white paths and circles - everywhere. 

 

It is embracing him, moving him - or moving the girl, pulling at her, forcing her into one direction, fast, hurried, making Luke unable to see, unable to notice their surroundings, what are they telling her.

 

They fly far, quickly, as if there are things that must be done. 

 

Her heartbeat is fast.

 

Even Luke finds himself rattled. 

 

And then it stops.

 

He squints at the sudden sun, hard and burning on his face, the sand underneath his feet blistering hot. The sand moves like an ocean, flowi ng, oscillating, ever so.

 

Tatooine?

 

And then he opens his eyes fully, seeing it.

 

The wreckage.

 

Jakku?

 

The trance ends abruptly and Luke is thrown out of the girls head. She falls back to the ground with a grunt, staring up at the ceiling. Luke is panting, feeling his older student try to keep him stationary, his palms digging into Luke’s shoulders.

 

The  _ Ghular _ lies there, blinking, unsure.

 

And then she says something, not quite in a voice of her own -

 

Something unsettling -

 

“Have you felt it?” a gasp, a shutter of her lips. “Something is awake.”

  
  
  


*

  
  


It’s boring. 

 

Rey hates boring.

 

Rey doesn’t know what to do with boring. She knows how to slave from dusk to dawn, knows how to lie in her hammock, limbs aching, head swimming from exhaustion. She knows how to get up early in the morning, how to occupy her hands, but she doesn’t know how to do...boring.

 

The holoscreen flickers in and out in front of her as she mans the front desk at Casterfo’s office, tapping the stylus against the table as a way to keep her hands busy, while her jaw clenches and unclenches as she tries her best to focus on the text in front of her.

 

She is not even sure why she is trying to read it, her dedication is half-hearted at best, but today is so…

 

...boring.

 

Actually, all of her days have become boring ever since the dreadful Zhellday a week ago. With Casterfo’s words still stinging, she had confined herself to her room, trying to avoid any uncomfortable confrontations with him. Even if she heard him rummaging around in the halls, she would not go out, not until her stomach commanded her to do so. It had reduced her adventu- _ mission _ to nothing but a simple spectatorship. A reluctant one. Rey is not a woman who is used to standing idly by as the world moves ahead. Not used to just wandering the halls, staring at the walls, skimming text on holopads, or training with no purpose.

 

Even if she is used to being a person of no consequence.

 

Rey sighs, biting her lip as she tries to read the paragraph  _ again _ , distracted by her own thoughts.

 

Her thoughts tend to take up a lot of head space lately. Thinking about how to get back in the game, thinking about how to get close to Leia’s son without getting  _ too close,  _ thinking about calling Poe and Finn, to let them in, let them support her. Allowing herself the luxury of support. Yet, whenever her finger had hovered over the call button - ready, almost there - it had alway slipped. 

 

Would they tell her to call it quits?

 

How would she even begin to explain to them what had happened? Her misfortune, her slip up. 

 

Would they understand?

 

Or would they take Casterfo’s side?

 

The thought alone had made her angrily shove the comlink under her pillow and ignore it. 

 

Why hadn’t they called her?

 

Hadn’t Finn promised he would be there for her?

 

Maybe she had misunderstood something.

 

Maybe they didn’t like her all that much.

 

Maybe they had just waited for her to leave, so they could be rid of her.

 

That’s when Rey goes to the training facilities. When her thoughts spiral, when her eyes burn, when she notices how pale her skin has become. 

 

She hits the training dummies, goes through her exercises, yells and screams. The sweat pours down her face, her arms, her thighs. It releases the anger, it clears her head, dampens her unsettled energy.

 

But it doesn’t ease her miserable condition.

 

And sometimes it even brings her ridiculous thoughts.

 

_ Would Ben understand her? Would he forgive her? Had she been placed in his care, would he ... _

 

She always makes sure to whack the training doll  _ extra hard _ when her mind wanders to him. Trying to remember the feeling of scarring his face that afternoon in the sand. The hurt he had inflicted on her, on others, the way he yells at his staff, the way he spits insults, the way his breath feels against her cheek.

 

Rey throws her hands on the table, growling at herself, and forces the memory out of her mind. 

 

This wouldn’t have happened if she wasn’t so bored!

 

_ What is wrong with her!? _

 

Even though she knows she should be happy that Kelko had called on her comm-device, asking her to man the front desk of his office today, she finds herself more distracted than she has been in many days.  

 

She is good at helping, burying herself in work. But even desk duty becomes boring on day three, after several days of just tapping at screens, rewriting drafts, and setting up meetings. And that’s when her thoughts venture to Leia’s son. 

 

Something they absolutely cannot do!

 

The stylus rocks from the force of her hands slamming at the desk, only to then lie still. Tucked neatly between the holopad and her jug of water.

 

The pen lies still on the table.

 

Rey looks at it. 

 

It remains that way, unmoving. 

 

She swallows.

 

_ You have it too. _

 

Rey inhales deeply, throwing her head back in a self-mocking gesture, groaning, not knowing what to expect, or why she even tries. Rubbing the palms of her hands against her eyes. It must be the loneliness from the past week, the restlessness of just...doing nothing, that makes her even entertain the thought.

 

Makes her even think about him. 

 

Yet...could it be?

 

Could she truly...have the Force?

 

She licks her lips as she settles deeper into her chair, fingers tapping lightly on the wooden armrest and she just - looks at it. Focusing deeply on the stylus, completely oblivious as to how she would even need to go about it.

 

_ Just...move.  _ She tries to tell it with her mind. 

 

It doesn’t.

 

She blows a hot gust of air from her nose and then draws a deep breath into her lungs as she tries to...what was it the Jedi in the stories would say?

 

Feel it?

 

How do you feel it? Like, physically? Mentally? For the heck of it, she plays along, tries to ‘sense’ the stylus, tries to feel it, tries to apply some logic to all of this.

 

_ “‘Reach out‘, the Jedi said to his apprentice,”  _ _ the Alien _ _ read out loud from the holopad, as Rey, no older than eight, stared up at his tanned face.  _

 

Reach out. 

 

Alright.

 

And then, almost as if someone is guiding her, nurturing her, her eyes flutter shut and she sits for a while and then starts to ...feel.

 

At first there’s nothing, just the whirring of the holoprojector. The air blowing from the air circulation system.

 

The sound of her own breathing.

 

The sound of feet walking on the other side of the door.

 

There are three people.

 

One of them is talking.

 

Next to them there is a plant, it flutters as they walk past. In a hurry. Oblivious to it all…

 

And then - suddenly - without really knowing how - she feels it all. 

 

All of it. 

 

Life.

 

Light.

 

Death.

 

Darkness.

 

And...something ...in between?

 

Her breath shakes as she slowly reaches, trying to find it, the stylus - between all of it. But it’s hard, there’s so many things, so many things around her, so many things calling, so many things desiring her attention.

 

She can’t.

 

She can’t find it.

 

It’s...it’s too much.

 

Something whooshes in the background - a door?

 

_ Rey. _

 

No. It’s mistake.

 

_ Rey. _

 

No.

 

_ Rey! _

 

I don’t want to!

 

Her hand shoots out and the stylus flies into the air, hitting the dark red wall with a hard CLUNK. Penetrating the durasteel, firmly anchored into its surface. 

 

Rey stares, disbelieving, absolutely confused about what just happened. Did she just -

 

“You should be careful, showing off like that,” a sharp female voice announces from her left. 

 

Rey flips her head, grabbing the armrests in surprise and blurting a heavy, “What?”

 

At the door stands a Senator, a very unimpressed human female Senator. Dressed in an intricately embroidered white dress and with dark braided hair, interwoven with golden flower stems and silk ribbons. A stark contrast to the deep dark red of the front office and she looks absolutely -

 

Beautiful. Stunning.

 

And the Senator knows it, the way her hand gracefully tugs at her trail, her lips painted a glossy deep brown, eyes carefully drawn. And she stares at Rey like she just saw something unpleasant.

 

Unremarkable.

 

Rey’s breath hitches in her throat and she unintentionally cowers in her chair, but then...she realizes something.

 

She recognizes her.

 

It’s the woman from the air taxi, who had nodded at Ben. The one who looked too busy and too important for anyone else. 

 

The one who hadn’t spared Rey a second glance. 

 

The woman purses her lips as she extends her neck, before she, in a serious and genuine tone, says, “The Empire may be gone, and Luke Skywalker may have a Jedi academy - but not everyone is as empathetic towards Force users as they once were.”

 

“I - I am not a-” Rey retorts, bewildered at the suggestion that she...that she could be - she is no Jedi! 

 

The Senator’s heels click against the floor as she daintily moves to the wall and studies the stylus, before yanking it from the wall. With a prickling airiness she replies, “No you are not. Any good Force user would have noticed me much earlier.” Rey stiffens, quiet, observing the gesture, reminded that she should do her best not to fall into the same trap as last week. So she is wary, more than anything.

 

“How can I help you?” Her is voice cool and measured. 

 

The Senator leans over and points at the holo with her long blue painted nails, “I have an appointment.”

 

Without taking her eyes off her completely, Rey skims the calendar, tracking the time of the schedule.

 

>11:00 AM - Senator Carise Sindian<

 

_ Carise Sindian. _

 

“You are Carise Sindian?”

 

“It’s Lady Sindian to you, something you should already know by now.” Carise holds the stylus almost like a knife, inspecting it, like she is measuring its potential as a weapon. “You have been here long enough to be able to know that.”

 

“What?” Rey deadpans.

 

“You are Casterfo’s new intern and you have been here a while.” Carise drops the stylus on the table. It lands with a hard thud. “I take pride in knowing who is who in our circles.” 

 

The way she says it makes Rey’s back prickle with goosebumps, and she shifts her shoulder in an obvious attempt at alleviating that. Sindian notices, of course she does, and one thing comes to the forefront of Rey’s mind.

 

_ Don’t try anything.  _

 

So Rey pushes herself softly back from the table and slowly stands and moves towards a latch on the wall. “You are a bit early and Casterfo is out, but he’ll be back shortly.” She punches in the code and it opens to reveal the caf maker. “Can I get you something?”

 

“No. It’s fine. I’ll wait,” Carise announces, as she goes to sit on the velvet purple couch, reaching for the holopad on the coffee table. 

 

Rey nods and pours herself a glass of water and moves to sit back down at her desk, gingerly watching Carise from the corner of her eye. Trying her best to make sense of the person casually sitting on the couch.

 

Someone she should be wary of.

 

Someone she shouldn’t try anything with.

 

Yet, she seems so...harmless.

 

Almost fragile, with her many rings, shiny necklaces, and carefully applied make up. 

 

Why should Rey be afraid of her?

 

Almost as if sensing her thoughts, Carise suddenly speaks, her painted fingernails flicking across the screen. “How do you know Senator Solo?” 

 

Rey goes rigid, hands ceasing their typing on the keyboard, eyeing the elegantly dressed lady lounging on the couch. Carise doesn’t even dignify her with a glance.

 

“I saw you two the other day,” the Senator clarifies, almost humming, “you two seemed...close?”

 

While Rey has never been a person proficient in the art of social deduction, she knows the question is loaded. Because how could anyone assume she and Leia’s son were _close_? They were far from it. 

 

Her hands flex as she tries to figure out how to approach the situation. Sindian, from Rey’s initial impression, does not seem like a person who arrives early as a habit. She’s theatrical, she probably aims to be the last to arrive at a party, aims to be the center of attention. A person who waits for no one, but makes people wait for her.

 

So she’s here, because she needs something, something Casterfo can’t give her.

 

Only Rey can.

 

“We are not,” she finally says, trying to come across as firm and decisive, typing away on some imaginary assignment. Buying time to figure out how to approach Sindian, knowing full well that the Senator has valuable knowledge, that she for sure is somehow connected to the First Order and if Rey could just...

 

“Hm. That’s not what I hear from him.”

 

“What?” Rey exclaims. By the Force. He is  _ telling other people about her!  _ Rey silently groans and she sees Carise’s mouth tug at the edges, somehow satisfied with her response, to which Rey quickly adds. “ _ Whatever he  _ is telling you, I'm sure he’s lying.”

 

“Perhaps,” Sindian chuckles. “But I have found him to be very truthful. I wanted to see what it could be that he is so keenly interested in,” she says, crossing her legs at the ankle. 

 

Rey sighs through her nose, cursing that tall tree of a man. Why can’t he just leave her alone?

 

“It’s not reciprocated.”

 

Sindian pouts in thought, lips pursed mirthfully. Her reply is nothing but a soft hum, indicating that she believes none of it.

 

Rey waits for Sindian to ask more questions, to initiate conversation, allowing Rey to be in control, but she remains as elusive and silent as ever. The whirr of the holo is the only sound in the room for a while, before curiosity gets the better of the scavenger and she spins around in her chair, demanding, “What is all of this to you?”

 

Sindian places the holopad in her lap, obviously satisfied with the turn of the conversation. “He has mentioned you. A few times. I wanted to see for myself what all the fuss is about.”

 

“Believe me, there is no fuss.”

 

“I see.” Sindian taps the tablet with her nails, drumming a secret song, before carefully speaking. “Yet, I need to ask you. What are your intentions with the prince?”

 

“Prince?”

 

If it wasn’t for the fact that Senator Sindian was so utterly composed in all matters, Rey could have sworn the woman rolled her eyes. “Force, girl - I am not sure if you are genuinely ignorant of the ways of the world, or if you are a cunning little thing - but you  _ must _ know that Leia Organa is a princess. You  _ must _ know that by that extension her son is royalty - a prince, heir to Birren, member of the Elder Houses.”  She licks her dark brown lips and lets her eyes travel over Rey’s body, frowning slightly at her clothes. “Just as I am.” 

 

Rey scoots back in her chair, jaw tense, silently fuming at Sindian’s scrutiny of her. The Senator continues on, lecturing a crowd of none about the history of the Elder Houses. The fantastic things they had done, their relevance and importance, while Rey just sits, half-listening, half-tuning out. Thinking only one thing.

 

“Are… _ you  _ and Senator Solo...close?”

 

Sindian blinks, actually surprised that Rey interrupts her lecture. With a scoff she says, “Of course we are close. He’s family. I too am to inherit the governorship of Birren, should anything befall Lady Organa or Prince Solo.” Sindian smacks her lips, almost shaking her head at how tactless Rey is. Obviously disappointed. 

 

Then her face grows softer, almost sad, as she continues, “It is a very lonely world out there for our kind. We are dwindling, reduced to nothing. We must stick together. I see it as my duty to ensure my relatives are well.”  Under her breath, she adds, “His mother for sure isn't.”

 

It is a torturous battle for Rey to not jump straight into the same trap as with Ro-Kiintor. So she decides to bury her fire inside herself first, clenching her hands hard at the mention of Leia. Her name taken in vain, her legacy purposely being tainted and instead -

 

\- She listens.

 

“Leia has never been a good mother.” The Senator dramatically sighs, “Never has been. That poor boy growing up with an absentee mother and father, off to gods know where. I remember him clearly. A very lonely young boy - a lonely young man.” It is clear how genuine Sindian believes her own words to be. That Ben is a victim, that people have wronged him. “So I took it upon myself to improve on that situation, when he came to Senate. Where his talent is revered.” A puckish smile grows on Sindian’s face, as she glances back at Rey. 

 

“So I am here with his best interests at heart.”

 

Rey opens her mouth and just as she is about to counter the Senator’s speech, the door slides open.

 

“Tell Rey she needs to go to the archives tomorrow, I need her to- “ Casterfo suddenly pauses in the entrance, looking absolutely horrified to see the beautiful woman smiling back at him. His eyes dart between the two women in his front office, searching for something.

 

Perhaps an excuse to send Rey back to Jakku.

 

Sindian stands and goes to shake his hand. “Your assistant is very lovely. I was here a bit before our scheduled meeting, she has taken very good care of me.” 

 

Casterfo says nothing and just follows the woman’s lead, shaking her hand in return. Kelko stands still, also appearing slightly puzzled at seeing Carise Sindian in their offices. 

 

Finally Rey seems to find her words and points at the screen, “She is your 11 o’clock.”

 

He nods at her words, somehow more at ease once he is sure Rey has not threatened or...been threatened, and with an extended hand, he leads Sindian into his office.

 

No one notices the hole in the wall.

  
  


*

  
  


Rey doesn’t have time t o think over Sindian’s words until the next day. Suddenly back in Casterfo’s good graces - or at least she has proven herself worthy of tasks other than proofreading - she has been thrown into various menial tasks, both within the Senate and outside of it, to a point where Rey simp ly did not find the time to reflect on what happened.

 

To reflect on what Sindian was truly telling her.

 

Until now.

 

Because the topic of that conversation stands a mere few feet away from her, squeezed between two library shelves, talking to a short old  Sullustan librarian in the Senate Archives.

 

Rey hurries herself into a random aisle and presses her back to the  Hapan basalt wall that hides her from his penetrating gaze. She involuntarily pants, while trying to settle her furiously pounding heart, clenching the holodiscs she was supposed to fetch for Casterfo firmly against her chest. 

 

Just her luck.

 

Go to the Senate Archives, Rey, find the discs on _ Orphan Records _ around 19 BBY, it might be relevant for better understanding what Ro-Kiintor was up to. Just show them my badge, I have access to all of it, he had said. A small, insignificant errand.

 

Which was far better than being stuck at the desk. 

 

Or so she thought.

 

The part of the archive she is in is dark and old. Built from  basalt brick rather than duracrete, it receives none of light from the massive panoramic climate screens in the new archival extension far above them, even with the ground floor void extending all the way down to their level. 

 

It makes it feel like there are secrets down here.

 

It makes it feel like somewhere Rey can hide.

 

It makes it feel like she could...listen in on him.

 

She is supposed to spy on him after all.

 

Her head turns slightly to the left, eyeing the hall where she noticed him, doing her best to extend her ears, to be quiet.

 

For a while she hears nothing, and almost without intending to, she anxiously waits for him to shout, to hear him scold the poor old  Sullustan , telling him how incompetent he is, how he should have found another profession.

 

Yet ...nothing.

 

Careful not to make a sound she moves her head even further to the left, glancing around the corner of the brick column, barely making out the two forms talking in the section for  Refresher Technology .

 

She blinks as her vision adjusts to the semi-darkness. 

 

Leia’s son looks almost...relaxed. Dressed in some soft looking dark gray pants and a loose fitting shirt. No jewellery or embroidery, just...simple. 

 

Normal.

 

_ Who does he think he is fooling? _

 

Rey narrows her eyes. Something feels off about this. The librarian keeps talking, and the Senator says nothing in return, he merely nods and collects the discs in his hands as they are given to him. It is hard to tell what his reaction is, with his back turned to her. However, Rey knows him well by now, knows that his patience does not extend to this type of small talk, this kind of inefficiency.  

 

So why isn’t he yelling? Or scolding the older  Sullustan ?

 

Rey extends her neck, ever so slightly, trying to get a clearer view of the pair, but to no avail - if she doesn’t want to be seen, that is.

 

“If you are really interested, I have some good records of the Clone Wars from the Jedi archive a few floors down.” The fragile, hoarse voice of the  Sullustan speaks. It’s hard to hear from the distance, but Rey can still make out most of the conversation.

 

The Senator shakes his head, looking back at the shelves. “No thank you. I am mostly interested in independent sources”, he says, with no clear animosity in his voice.

 

“Very well, could you be a  _ Chikra _ and fetch me that disc from the top there,” the  Sullustan points at the shelf to their right and without a complaint or even a hint of annoyance, the Senator reaches and plucks it from its assigned spot. The  librarian  chirps an endearment in gratitude and when the Senator hands the disc to him, he turns ever so slightly, enough for Rey to see his profile.

 

And…

 

He is smiling.

 

Smiling.

 

Not a lot, but it’s evident, the way the corners of his lips tug at themselves, the way the whiteness of his teeth is barely showing, but it's there.

 

_ He can ...smile? _

 

Rey whips her head back and stares directly at the  Refresher Tech holo discs in front of her. But she doesn’t even notice, her eyes are unable to focus, her face is burning, and her pulse is deafening in her ears. The only thing she truly pays attention to is the conversation happening behind her.

 

The Senator mumbles a small “No problem” and they continue moving through the halls. 

 

It doesn’t make sense. Any of it. The way he appears gentle and almost... nice. It contradicts all of the things Rey knows about him, her whole understanding of his person. She has seen him be shy and careful, but that was never with the intention of being...nice. It had always been with an ulterior motive, something unpleasant.

 

Is he trying to hurt the  Sullustan ?

 

No. Why should he?

 

Her thoughts spiral as Rey struggles to  _ not think about him smiling,  _ trying to make sense of the scene, the lack of his usual obvious malice. Completely putting all of her other tasks on hold, even though Rey had promised Casterfo this would be a quick errand. 

 

And then, slowly, like a  vine snake slithering into her AT-AT, Sindian’s words reemerge at the forefront of Rey’s mind, taking hold of her thoughts, of her attention.

 

_ A lonely young man. _

 

_ Lonely. _

 

It confounds her, how endearingly she had spoken of Leia’s son, how she had decided to protect him, take him in - be the caretaker he so needed in his life. While Rey suspects that Carise for sure is involved with the First Order, the way she describes him, as someone to take pity on, seems so far off from the image he tries to project of being strong, dangerous, and in control. Of someone to be feared. 

 

There must be some truth to it.

 

Why else would Sindian say it like that? 

 

Her chest rises in an involuntary heavy breath. The realization that maybe his violence, his anger and resentment of others could be because...because…

 

_ He’s lonely.  _

 

_ Afraid.  _

 

_ At night...desperate to sleep.  _

 

Thumping her head back against the wall, Rey reluctantly allows herself to suggest an impossible scenario to herself.

 

That maybe he too would understand how solitude and loss can eat away at you until there was nothing left.

 

That maybe he is not entirely at fault. 

 

_ Not entirely.  _

 

Maybe he is with the First Order because he has nowhere else to go. No one else to cling to. No one else who likes him.

 

It is not an impossible scenario. Rey herself has witnessed firsthand the atrocities people will commit to avoid being alone. To save people they love. Submitting themselves to violence because the thought of enduring life on their own is so daunting. She has seen people kill. She has seen people die. 

 

On Jakku you either thrived in self-imposed loneliness or you submitted yourself to someone else’s will. 

 

And as she has discovered too, even in a crowd of people, even on a busy street, you can remain isolated, lonely, scared.

 

Lonely enough to seek out belonging wherever it is freely given.

 

“Force,” she mutters, closing her eyes and bringing the discs closer to her chest, trying to shelter herself in her small hidden corner of the Republic Archives. 

 

It bothers her, should this be the truth, that he is just like any man, trying to make his way through the world. To be someone. To belong. 

 

Just like her.

 

A small chuckle emerges from down the hall, his deep dark voice so clearly recognizable, even among the multitude of people and aliens wandering the halls. Did he tell a joke?

 

Is he a person who...tells jokes?

 

The mere possibility that his persona, the wildness and fury, could be nothing more than his way of coping with the world, and that underneath all that lay a sweet tender boy, who gladly helps a librarian fetch a disc with a smile, positively breaks her mind.

 

It hurts her heart.

 

It ruins her pride.

 

Yet, the thought that he suffers, that he is as she is, a hardened and lonely shell, makes one thought take root in her, that she never thought would be allowed to bloom.

 

And it scares her.

 

_ Maybe she could help him? _

  
  


*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**
> 
> Coarse and rough like sand? Not likely! Check out as your new go to fabric; [coarseweave](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Coarseweave). 
> 
> A chamber where they yell at each other and sometimes also makes political decisions, aka. [the Senate chamber](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Senate_chamber). 
> 
> We all love to hate them. [Fathiers](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Fathier). 
> 
> What should we call granite in star wars? Lucas: just add a ‘te’. People: ‘k. [Gratenite](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Gratenite). 
> 
> The cutest alien ever is without a doubt a [Sullustan](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sullustan). Next up is a [Ghular](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ghular). 
> 
> You’ve heard of Hapan Smelt, but what about [Hapan basalt](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hapan_basalt).


	14. Chapter 14 - X-wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Last time on RTD**
> 
> Carise Sindian showed up and was a vague cunning little bitch. Rey and Casterfo still haven't made up since her little spoon slip up with Ro-Kiintor, but that doesn't really matter when the son of Leia looks really cute when he is smiling. Also he might be lonely...
> 
> ...better do something about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ alpha reader Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder) and if it is at ALL readable, it is due to the warming presence of my [ beta reader Blessmycircuits!](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits). They work so hard and I love them. 
> 
> All the UWUS

**RTD14 - X-wings**

 

Casterfo’s apartment is warm, despite the gentle breeze from the balcony blowing  cool spring air into his living room and kitchen. It’s not a scorching desert heat, but rather something pleasant and lazy. Were it not for the noisy city buzzing with its speeder lanes just below, it would almost seem like just another evening on Jakku.

 

Rey rests her head in one hand as she skims through archival records on the holopad, enjoying the new leisurely peace between her and her patron. They don’t talk, but it’s not as uncomfortable now. It is simply a mutual silence born from equal parts exhaustion and complacency. A silence that allows her to observe her surroundings, the simple decor of the apartment - as well as the worn and aging face of her employer. She notices Casterfo biting his lip in concentration, his brow wrinkling while his fingers dig into his temple, looking older than he has in a while. Pure frustration marks his face. Rey supposes it’s inevitable, given how they have spent hours flicking through pages of what has turned out to be poorly documented records of orphans during the  _ Clone Wars _ from 19 BBY.

 

The year Leia was born.

 

A frustrated groan fills the air and Casterfo runs as hand through his hair.

 

Record keeping apparently wasn’t a top priority during the rise of the Empire, Rey supposes.

 

And especially not when it concerned orphans.

 

She wonders if orphans are a high priority even now?

 

Rey abruptly places her holopad back on the table, determined to  _ not _ go down that road, to not open those doors.

 

Not now.

 

She inhales, drumming her fingers against the holopad’s surface. There’s a crick in her neck that she tries to stretch, the many hours of scanning names settling into her skin and bones. All the names that mean nothing, unsorted, uncategorized - it’s agonizing. Especially when they are not sure what to look for or where to look for it. 

 

And that’s what’s odd about it, Rey agrees with Casterfo. How odd it is for Bail and Breha Organa to adopt someone of little consequence, considering their position - and considering the fact that they had the opportunity to adopt many years prior and didn’t.

 

And Leia was a child born  _ shortly  _ following the Jedi Purge.

 

And her brother too. Shepherded off to a backwater planet to live with a moisture farmer and his wife, another seemingly insignificant person. 

 

And now he is a Jedi Master.

 

Strong with the Force.

 

_ Could Leia and Luke be related to the Jedi Order? _ Rey wonders, furrowing her brows, thinning her lips. Casterfo gives her a brief, sharp look -  _ perhaps he is judging her work ethic? _ \- but says nothing. 

 

It doesn’t surprise her that some open hostility remains, but there’s a soft tug at her heart saying that he still distrusts her. When she has done nothing but fight for his acceptance and confidence. 

 

Yet, she doesn’t blame him. She knows how difficult it is to earn her own trust.

 

Does she even trust Casterfo?

 

She sighs. 

 

She has to try. 

 

“Do you want something?” the words slip from her mouth, “I’m getting some water”, - knowing full well that they could just have summoned the butler droid. 

 

“Some caf would be nice,” Casterfo replies, eyes focused on the page in front of him.

 

Rey rises from her chair slowly and shuffles to the kitchen and just...stands - and plans. The caf maker gurgles as she pushes the red button on the left. Steam rises as it sputters murky water into the cup below. She wavers, shifting on her feet while biting her nails - thinking. 

 

Because there’s a thought that won’t leave her alone.

 

A thought that has nagged at her brain and her wits every day since she met Senator Solo in the archives. A thought that continues to mold and change every time she recalls the words of Senator Sindian.

 

That he is lonely.

 

Alone. 

 

And the more she thinks about it, the more she tries to make sense of it, the more she starts to see him. His loneliness, his desire to spend time with awful people like Carise Sindian and Ro-Kiintor, why he would be drawn to the First Order too. Why he never shows up to the Resistance meetings she and Casterfo have - why they never talk. 

 

He has no one. 

 

And even as a part of the Resistance, he remains alone.

 

Vulnerable to...other influences. 

 

Bracing herself and drawing in a deep breath for confidence, she chugs down her glass of water, takes the hot cup of caf, and steps into the living room.

 

Knowing what she has to do. 

 

“Casterfo?” she begins, and he hums a reply, never sparing her a glance. 

 

Rey exhales. “I’m curious. Why isn’t Senator Solo helping us?” 

 

Casterfo blinks as she hands him the murky bean water, obviously taken aback by her topic of choice.

 

“Senator Solo?” the caution is clear in his voice. “What about him?”

 

The chair scratches slightly against the floor as she grabs it by the arm rests and pulls it slightly closer to him. He frowns when she sits, looking serious. “Isn’t it...strange, that we are investigating his family, his mother - without his aid? He might know something -” she sees him furrow his brow, “- especially considering his uncle is a Jedi. And as you said it too, Leia and Luke became orphans almost immediately after Order 66. There could be a connection.”

 

“There could be,” he reluctantly agrees, jaw tight.

 

“So...I think. Maybe we should invite him? Ask him for his help.” Rey hates how light and bright she must sound to him, ignorant and inexperienced. 

 

Casterfo sputters, “You really want to sit  _ here _ ? With that  _ moody  _ man?” - then a disbelieving laugh, “I am not interested in babysitting more people.” The venom is obvious in his voice. The exhaustion from days of work clearly having eroded his usual political correctness and left him without his usual politically correct filter. 

 

Almost on autopilot, Casterfo recoils, his regret of having shown his true feelings suddenly staining his face. He tries to remedy his words, but they are there, out in the open.

 

Rey now knows. 

 

And she understands. 

 

Casterfo doesn’t know what she is here to do, doesn’t know the things about Senator Solo that can redeem his faults - at least partially. Doesn’t know why they need to carve another path for Leia’s lonely son. Why they need to embrace him.

 

Why they need to extend a hand in friendship.

 

To give him an alternative to the manipulation of Carise, of the First Order.

 

She has to make Casterfo see. 

 

“Casterfo,” Rey swallows, “I need to tell you something.” 

 

Her hearts hammers in her chest. She knows it will be difficult, letting someone else in on her secret, especially someone so close to Leia. Would he even believe it? The holo with the red-haired general was no longer with her, but with Finn. She had no proof, only suspicions and-

 

“It’s okay, Rey,” he interrupts, sipping from the warm cup of caf, rubbing his other hand over his stubble regretfully, still pained by his slip up. “I know we...had a falling out the last couple of weeks, and I know you want to help -”

 

“But - “ she presses, but he continues, unrelenting. 

 

“I want to trust you. And you are right. He might be valuable to us -” an air speeder honks outside, “- And if you feel like we need him here, I won’t make you second-guess yourself.”

 

“Casterfo.”

 

“No, It’s fine. You are probably right. I just...maybe it’s time I got to know him a little better. Why don’t you extend an invitation to him?”

 

“That wasn’t what I-”

 

The honking continues, even louder than before, and a voice calls out for him. Casterfo rises from his chair, curious, and looks through the living room before quickly exiting towards the balcony.

 

But not before giving Rey saying a quick, _ we’ll continue this conversation later. _

 

 

 

*

 

A conversation they never manage to have before a subtle note in her calendar requests that she ‘carefully invite him to join them tomorrow night’.

 

*

 

 

“Oh, sweetheart! Are you alright?!” an  Ithorian woman  shrieks across the senate plaza, turning heads near and far. 

 

Rey snaps her head toward the sound and watches the woman race down the stairs to a child who lies face down on the polished granite. The  Ithorian  grabs him by the arm, almost violently, to lift him up. Still small enough for her to do it with ease. 

 

The scavenger in her tells her not to get involved, but the sound of the child’s piercing cry makes her step away from where she is waiting and begin descending the enormous staircase. Like a  blaze bug  drawn to a flame.

 

And then she stops -

 

Rey cannot make out the words, but it is clear that the  Ithorian is comforting the child. The way she  checks him for injuries and wipes the tears from his cheeks while softly speaking eventually turns the wail into a soft cry. The child’s face is red and puffy, silent tears drenching his cheek, but when he finally recognizes the person touching his face, his lungs burst open again into a powerful wail. The cry, while deafening, nevertheless makes the people around them visibly calm and go back on their way, knowing he is safe and alive. 

  
  


And then Rey sees it -

 

The bruised knee, burning red and bleeding, the cause of his agony.

 

The mother coos at her child, kissing his face, and then leans down -

 

\- To kiss the bruise.

 

Rey stops breathing.

 

And just watches, transfixed by how the soft crying dies down, as if the kiss alone soothes the pain. As if it heals. 

 

Rey stares, mesmerized and trying to remember if anyone has ever touched her skin with their lips. The scar on her bicep.

 

The pair looks up at her and Rey swallows, hard enough for it to show, and hurriedly looks away, kicking at some imaginary dust on the ground, trying not to interrupt the private moment between mother and son. It feels as if she is. The way she can’t stop focusing on them, yet knowing it's not meant for her. Something that should not bring her comfort.

 

Yet...it does.

 

“Force,” she mouths, feeling pathetic at how easily distracted she is lately. Almost as if her mind is looking for a way out of any task and instead actively seeking out anything that is remotely different and interesting. Such as looking at an injured child and concerned mother. 

 

She rubs her cheeks with her palms and settles for trying to focus on the reason why she has spent the last hour baking in the setting sun. The reason why she is looking around the golden Senate Atrium, filled to the brim with senators, workers, and staff, moving from one end to the other, from the vertical elevators to the horizontal ones. The reason why she is anxious, her palms sweaty.

 

And still no sight of him.

 

Rey looks at the chrono on display in the atrium, annoyed to find that he still hasn’t shown, despite his official public calendar schedule for the day having ended a while ago. Her eyes then dart to the landing platform and find his airspeeder still parked and ready - it has probably waited even longer than her. His driver is stiff and stoic next to it, looking almost ill. Nervous.

 

She presses her lips together tightly, not used to being cunning and deliberate about her plans - waiting out her targets, using words to be convincing, to be deliberately sneaky. No. Rey is a woman who charges right ahead.

 

But she can’t do this now.

 

And she feels her courage falter.

 

What if she fails?

 

She can’t fail.

 

Not when the goal is so near. So clear.

 

But she can’t.

 

Should she have gone to his office instead? But that could be wired. Carise could be there too. But the plaza is pretty public. Should she have gone to his apartment instead?

 

No. No that’s not an option.

 

No.

 

She hears him before she sees him. 

 

And that’s because he is yelling. His deep, dark voice rumbles, loudly and harshly as he spits at his assistant, trying to get some ridiculous point across. 

 

Then he emerges from the right, pushing his way through a crowd of lanky  Koboks .  He is jabbing a finger into the chest of his assistant, who looks away, shamefully, shoulders tight and hands clenched. Mitaka looks absolutely miserable. Yet the senator keeps yelling, unconcerned with the crowd of people staring or the hurt he is clearly inflicting on a member of his staff. 

 

What a  Stoopa.

 

It pisses her off.

 

And she knows what she has to do. 

 

Senator Solo is half dragging the small pale man down the stairs, marching intently towards the airspeeder, oblivious to the look of dread the driver is giving him, or the fact that people are literally jumping out of their way to avoid the fury of an elected member of the Galatic Senate -

 

\- And the fact that a small human woman is charging at him, fuming.  

 

Rey half runs, balling up the wrapper from her  sandwich  in her hand, all while easily dodging the bodies of aliens, humanoids, and humans along her path.

 

The wrapper hits the back of the senator’s head.  _ Hard _ . 

 

It surprises her that he didn’t see it coming. 

 

Wasn’t he supposed to be strong with the Force?

 

It seems to surprise him as well.

 

“What the-!” he exclaims, snapping his head towards the direction of the projectile.

 

And then he sees her. 

 

Arms crossed, chin raised, and a scowl burned onto her face - which is by now pretty permanent whenever she sees him. And he freezes, eyebrows shooting up, his mouth parting ever so slightly. 

 

Rey growls, “Be nice!”

 

“What?” he blurts, blinking at her scowl, confused enough to not struggle when Rey pulls Mitaka away and firmly instructs him to take an air taxi back, that she  _ needs to speak with the senator _ . He is confused enough to not refuse her when she jumps into his airspeeder and climbs into his seat, still fuming. He is confused enough to not follow her immediately. 

 

It’s a bold, spur of the moment decision, but she knows this conversation is not meant for public ears. She crosses her arms and stares ahead, avoiding his perplexed gaze.

 

Why is she feeling so nervous?

 

It takes him a few seconds, but eventually he follows her, looking less than amused with her antics, with being domineered. The door shuts behind him with a soft thud.

 

It’s very quiet in the passenger cabin.

 

The overhead lights cast him in an eerie light, darkening his face. And then she notices it.

 

The sharp lines around his mouth.

 

The circles under his eyes.

 

The furrow etched into his forehead.

 

He is not happy with her.

 

And he tells her as much.

 

“You are not going to do that again.”

 

“Then you should treat your workers with respect.”

 

“Again. That is none of  _ your _ business,” he half growls, the humiliation burning into a spitting growl. The driver slams the front seat door closed. 

 

“And you don’t get to tell me what to do,” she hisses.

 

His hand slams to the door handle and he pushes it open. “ _ Out _ .”

 

“No.”

 

“It’s not an offer.”

 

“No?  _ Really _ ?” she mockingly replies, giving him an unamused look. 

 

The door remains open, and he grumbles something she can’t make out, exhaling his frustration with her, obviously not interested in whatever she is about to propose to him. 

 

Rey tries again, “I have a message from Casterfo-”

 

“I decline.”

 

“But you haven’t even heard what it is!”

 

“I already know what you are going to ask.”

 

“Clearly you don’t -” She tries to reach over him to pull the door closed, but his grip is firm, and he easily pushes her away with a hand on her shoulder, frowning and hissing. “Don’t you have work to do?” he snaps. _ Is that a bruise on his cheek? Badly and hastily covered up? _

 

“This  _ is _ work!” Rey counters, which he rolls his eyes at. 

 

A small crowd begins to gather close by to watch whatever drama is currently unfolding on the Senate steps. The senator exhales heatedly and slams the door shut, mumbling into his comm-link something about taking her to Casterfo’s. Clearly not intending to indulge her. 

 

But Rey didn’t survive on Jakku by being deterred so easily. 

 

So, she throws herself back onto the leather seats as the speeder takes off. She feels it pull a sharp left, rising, before settling into one of the speeder lanes above. 

 

The senator doesn’t spare her a glance and instead resorts to looking out the speeder window, lips tight and jaw tense. 

 

Rey finds she doesn’t know what to say.

 

So they don’t say anything for a while. 

 

_ Why is he bouncing his knee so? _

 

A sigh escapes her, a frustrated blush on her cheeks as she mumbles, “I didn’t mean to manhandle you…”

 

“I’m sure you didn't.” His hand flexes. 

 

_ This impossible man.  _

 

The leather squeaks as she turns to him, pulling her knees up on the seat, “Senator-”

 

“I refuse.” His voice reverberates across the cabin, shielded from the ears and eyes of the driver by a privacy screen.

 

"What? You haven't even heard what I have to say."

 

"I refuse.”

 

Rey gapes, cheeks now flushing in anger. “I didn’t hit you that hard! And you deserved it -”

 

“And you are now the judge of what is fair and what is just?” He bares his teeth with a snarl, but he still refuses to look at her, instead staring daggers at the horizon, like he’s holding something back. As though he doesn’t want to lose his temper.

 

She frowns, “That’s not what this is about.”

 

“No. But you are clearly ignoring what I am telling you. I merely go by  _ your  _ rules."

 

“My rules?” Rey snorts, like she hasn’t been playing by his rules ever since that day on the bridge. His wishes, his powers.

 

“Yes,” his eyes flash, “I ask you to not do something, and you take it as an invitation to do the exact opposite.”

 

“That applies to you too!”

 

His head spins to her, lips twisted in a grimace. “Does it now? I am not the one who has forced my way into an airspeeder or a private room. I have kept my distance as you have asked - but you seem insistent upon continuing your torment.” 

 

“My torment?” the words are disbelievingly repeated by her mouth. 

 

“Or have you come to tell me about mine? You seem relentless in creating one.” He returns to looking out the window.

 

There it is again, his usual tactics - deflection and derision. As if he is her master and she his student, to be kept at bay by questions. But things had changed. She wasn’t the young woman on the bridge on Birren, or the one he had tormented in his private chambers.

 

Not anymore.

 

“No.” She slides closer to him, and while he doesn't move, he visibly tenses, clearly aware of the change in their dynamic. His eyes travel between hers and her very solid presence through the reflection in the window. “Look at me.  _ Ben _ .”

 

At the sound of his given name, he turns, looking a bit lost.

 

"I am not here to fight. I am here because we need your help - Casterfo and I.” Her voice lowers to almost a whisper, “Remember when I told you that thing about Ro-Kiintor? About Leia. Casterfo thinks there’s something off about it and - We are looking through the archives! And I - we - could use some help." She pauses and then softly whispers, "I would like  _ your _ help."  

 

She watches the emotions chase themselves across his face, and something else - something jittering, spiking. Anger. Confusion. Pain. Longing. Sorrow …

 

Loneliness. 

 

"No."

 

"What?"

 

"I don't have time for that. Put another assistant on it." 

 

"Wait. It's not about tha-"

 

"You think I have time to waste? Hmm? On some wild bantha chase? On something that doesn’t exist? You are..." he snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have truly selective hearing about the things I tell you.”

 

"Oi!" Rey exclaims, grimacing. “It is not about that!”

 

"Then  _ what _ is it?"

 

She exhales, pursing her lips, considering her words carefully. Debating how truthful she has to be, how much he needs to know.

 

Because what is it about really? Is it just needing him to help them looking through name after name? No. It isn’t just that. Is it about using him for knowledge on his mother and uncle? Yes, but who knows if he has the information they need. Would he even want to know himself?

 

It hurts to admit it, to admit that the reason she insisted on having Casterfo invite him into their circle had little to do with gathering  _ actual _ information.

 

And more to do with Rey having to try. She can’t go back to Jakku knowing she left him at the mercy of people with ill intentions. Not when he could do so much better.

 

All the good he could do.

 

She has seen it, in glimpses, but it is there. Buried beneath years of pain and sacrifice.

 

With a deep exhale, she decides to go for the truth.

 

She tells him about the lack of records. She tells him about their theory. She tells him about how Ro-Kiintor had implied that Leia’s father was with the Empire. She tells him about the possible connection to the Jedi Order -

 

And he listens. His full attention is on her. Dark brown eyes never wavering, but also never revealing. All she sees is his thoughts turning and his feelings churning. A violent force around her, so many things to consider. So many feelings to submit to.

 

“It’s the right thing to do. And...and you know Leia. You know Luke. You know about...about the Jedi stuff.” The passion rolls off her in waves, sickening waves of desperation from how she yearns for this to work. “This could be our way into the First Order, to convince the Senate,” she tries to argue, gambling, knowing of his own possible allegiances.

 

He is quiet, watching her, eyes narrowed and mouth moving.

 

The speeder stops. 

 

The comm-link buzzes with the voice of the driver. 

 

Ben turns it off.

 

And then waits a moment or two, before sighing. 

 

“I am not the right person for this.” He draws a hand through his hair, “And there are people who know more about the Order. Much more than me.”

 

“But-”

 

“No.”

 

“ _ Yes _ . You should come with us - we -”

 

“Rey,” he tries.

 

“ _ Ben _ .”

 

“Casterfo wouldn’t agree to this.”

 

Rey rolls her eyes at how many excuses he seems to conjure by the minute. “He has!”

 

“Tell me the real reason you are here.”

 

“I have!”

 

This time he leans closer, eyes intent, as if he has realised something - something crucial. “You have not.” His voice is low and menacing. “Does Casterfo even know you are here?” The words and tone are unkind, but his face betrays insecurity and desperate need for her to reveal something else. 

 

Something... _ more _ .

 

She swallows hard, throat bobbing. Her hands are sweating - knowing she has to give him something, something convincing, something he wants...something she wants - and then in a low voice -

 

" _ I can help you- _ "

 

The leather squeaks as she moves, drawing her knees up to her chest, trying to get something, anything from him. But his face is unmoved by her statement, his jaw tight, eyes wild. 

 

He doesn't reply, not immediately. 

 

Because this was not what he expected. 

 

Then he tries, very carefully, "With what?" 

 

Their voices are low, almost as if the threads of their burgeoning connection are thin and fragile, a house of cards ready to tumble at the smallest false movement.

 

Rey gambles.

 

“I- I - I know what’s like.” She licks her lips, “To...be on your own. To feel it almost...eat you up.” The confession burns her skin. 

 

“I think you know what it's like too…”

 

No sound escapes him, hardly even a breath. His body goes tense and still, but his eyes flicker everywhere, searching for something, anything. He is not rejecting her, that is already more than she had hoped for. He may not have said anything either, but his lack of response inspires a boldness in her, a fire blazing wilder and wilder with each gust of breath. 

 

Because it is  _ something _ . 

 

She places a hand on top of his. 

 

The leather glove warm beneath her hand, jumps at her touch, but doesn’t pull away. 

 

So Rey tries. Tries something she has never done. Something he may not even deserve.

 

She finds that she doesn’t care. 

 

The words are barely audible -

 

“You...have a  _ friend _ in me. You...have a  _ choice _ . It's not  _ too late _ .” Rey gasps, “I know what it is like to be alone too.”

 

But he hears them. She knows by the way his hand flexes involuntarily with each syllable she pronounces. 

 

The suspicion is there, deep in the abyss of his pupils. In awe of how they had gone from bickering and fighting to her tenderly caressing his hand with an offer of friendship.

 

"You are not alone, Rey," he begins, probably intending to contradict her proposal, probably about to tell her there is no need to be there for junk like him. That he is unworthy of her attention and her compassion. He almost shyly turns his hand and then grabs hers, preparing her for his inevitable rejection. 

 

She sees it, in the way it almost hurts him to say it.. 

 

So she stops him, tightening her hold on his hand. Like she means it. Like this is it. 

 

"Neither are you," she stubbornly proclaims.

 

He watches her. Scared, disbelieving, like he has been hurt and hurt again. Like no one has been able to withstand his fire, his passion.

 

Rey will.

 

Rey can.

 

Because she knows how destructive loneliness can be. 

 

He sighs, his chest expanding with a trembling breath.

 

And then he asks. 

 

"Have you ever tried to fly an X-wing?"

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

The lights flicker once, then twice when the senator flips the switch next to the door. The fluorescent lamps high above on the ceiling struggle to awaken before bathing the empty hangar in front of them in light. It’s devoid of any workers, all of them having gone home to enjoy a few hours of rest before being forced back amongst the oil, the coaxium, and the heat. 

 

It smells heavenly. Like nights in the AT-AT, like good things to scavenge and allowing herself to eat more than a quarter portion.

 

And then she sees it, allowing herself for the first time to admire the senator’s tiny fleet. A small, but truly effective one. The  _ Delphic  _ sits shiny, bright, and chrome in the middle of the floor. 

 

With a disgusted flick of his hand, Ben deposits a leftover cup of something into the trash can with a disapproving scowl on his face. Probably already preparing the speech he’ll deliver to his staff for not keeping their station clean.

 

Rey might have made a comment, a taunt, at his obvious distrust of the people he employs, but she’s...nervous.

 

Her heart is caught in her throat, her hands are clammy, and her jaw tense. Yeah, she is nervous, cautious, she keeps glancing back to see what he’s doing, what he is up to.

 

Like he is someone to be wary of.

 

Which is an interesting attitude considering that less than half an hour ago she grasped his hand and proclaimed eternal and unconditional friendship. And even more so considering the fact that she has always dreamt of flying an X-wing - soaring through the skies, parting the clouds, speeding towards the stars. 

 

She is about to live a dream of hers, finally, yet she insists on keeping as wide a distance between them as possible, and dread is beginning to settle into her bones, making her think ridiculous things. 

 

Maybe flying an X-wing is overrated?

 

Maybe they can do this another day?

 

Would she even know how?

 

Buttons and switches click behind her as the senator punches in a code of some sort. Some of the light fixtures change, turning red lights green and then the hangar doors wrench open, creaking as they slide to the side - revealing an utterly beautiful view of the capital city. Lush green fields stretch as far as Rey can see, letting in the last light of the setting sun, bathing them and the ships in oranges, reds, and purples. 

 

Rey stares at the hull of the  _ Delphic _ , remembering how it had brought her here from Birren and oh, how she had wanted to look at it, to touch it. And now she allows herself to, dragging her hand across the shiny durasteel.

 

“It was a gift,” the senator says as he walks closer to her, tugging at the fastening on his senatorial cape. “From back when I first started here. Made by  Kuat Systems Engineering ”.

 

“Who gave it to you?”

 

“Leia Organa.” He folds the fabric over his left arm, carefully and with purpose. “Thought a proper senator needed a proper ride.”

 

“Is it your favorite ship?” 

 

He shakes his head, and then gestures towards an old A-wing sitting in the far corner, its yellow-green paint flaking at the front. “Found this one at an auction of surplus Rebel ships. None of the ships fly as well as that one.” 

 

“And why aren’t we flying that one?” Rey snickers. 

 

It pales in comparison to the newness and finish of some of the other ships, but Rey sees it, knows the model, its sturdiness, its enhanced astronavigation - she gets it. 

 

Ben shrugs and begins walking towards the collection of ships, casually remarking, “You said you wanted to.”

 

Rey blinks, trying to remember telling him about that -

 

Only to suddenly recall that day a few weeks ago when she had spoken to his staff and he had viciously interrupted them.

 

Had he heard?

 

And he...remembered. 

 

Her stomach suddenly fills to the brim with fluttering  Sriluurian butterflies , her throat dries and she looks away, blushing. 

 

He remembered.

 

And just like that, the tense mood from the air taxi, something they had carried with them into hangar, appears to dissipate. It’s replaced by something warm and hesitant, but welcoming, as he directs her to his parade of ships, showing off his favorites. Allowing her to inspect the brake system of the mother ship. Demonstrating, albeit with a light tinge of red on his cheeks, some of his own modifications - some small, others big, like changing the entire fuel system on a  A-wing  to give it an extra burst of power. Rey is dying to see it, and without even asking for permission she pulls open the engine hatch and - gapes.

 

All of this would buy her  _ at least _ 15-20 portions of veg meat at Unkar Plutt’s.

 

The senator knows his stuff.

 

Grinning to herself, she yells from her spot under the belly of the ship, “Senator. This stuff is usually used in TIE-fighters.”

 

He puts his hands in his pockets, his expression hidden from her by the durasteel body of the A-wing, and casually replies, “TIE-fighters are good at fuel exchange, fast and easily fixed. What is not to admire?”

 

By the suspension, she pulls herself out and looks up at his towering form, knowing full well he took her here to try out an X-wing, not to have her inspect every single piece of every ship, but clearly he is not a novice, far from it. “But  TIE-fighters are extremely destructible, no hyperspace drive, no effective shield,” she argues.

 

He scoffs, “That has far more to do with the Emperor being a sadistic piece of work, rather than a general design flaw.” His gaze turned towards the cockpit of the  A-wing .

 

“It was intentional?” Rey suggests,”To make them fly faster?” She rubs the engine oil from her hand onto her pants, not caring about the stain it leaves.

 

“More like making sure people flew their best. If your life's on the line and you know you can’t escape, then you are always giving your best. Or at least, trying not to die.” His voice is full of resentment, something that somehow surprises her, being fully convinced that he, like everyone else she has met who was enamoured by Empire technology, would be unquestioning of the Emperor’s inclinations. At least the few she had met personally - Ro-Kiintor and Carise Sindian. Yet, he wasn’t. Isn’t.

 

Her shoulder leans against the durasteel of the  A-wing . She cocks her head slightly to the right, inspecting him. “You disagree then? What do you think motivates people then?”

 

With no hesitation, and not turning to look at her, he states, “Purpose.”

 

Rey looks at him, really looks at him, trying hard to grasp the man a few feet ahead of her. Finding herself growing increasingly more aware of what kind of puzzle he is. Which pieces go together and which don’t. Which he has carved himself and which people have given him - odd and misshapen, ill-fitting - but still pieces he cannot throw away.

 

Would he throw them away if he could?

 

So she nods, not fully ready to understand or even comprehend what he wants his statement to mean, or what it means to him. No. She doesn’t reply. Instead she finds herself opening her mouth -

 

“I- I once restored a  690 light freighter . I found it in the desert, full of food and the reactor was still working. It was in good shape, all it needed was a few repairs.” She draws a breath, trying her best to avoid the pain of the long-buried memory of Devi and Strunk, flying higher and higher above her in the ship as she watched, left behind - again. Watching the skies long after they had entered hyperspace. “I used some wiring from a TIE-fighter too, it was good quality. The freighter was a really good ship.”

 

“What happened to it?” he asks, eyes narrowed, as if he almost already knows the answer to the question.

 

“The same thing that happens to anything that works on Jakku.”

 

Then something happens, something no one has ever done when she mentions that dust bowl of a planet, her home. He doesn’t pity her. His face isn’t contracted into some painful grimace from the secondhand hurt. The senator simply nods, as if he takes what she says for what it is. He trusts her judgement, her account of the story.

 

Life is hard on Jakku, she knows it, he knows it. She did what she had to do. What she could do. Fairness is not a thing that exists in these corners of the galaxy, it doesn’t even exist here on Hosnian Prime.

 

His reaction does something funny to her heart, the way it skips a beat.

 

And then he points to the polished blue X-wing in the farthest corner, “I didn’t use any TIE-fighter parts, but we’ll go in this one. It’s modified to carry two people instead of one. A pilot and a gunner. It’s very effective in combat.”

 

True to his word, there really are two seats in the extended cockpit. She crawls the tiny ladder next to it, peeking into the dented and dirty window. He asks her if she has flown before, and she mutters something along the lines of  _ nothing this fast or nothing on her own. She did help steal the Millennium Falcon though.  _

 

He frowns, grumbling lowly, “That piece of garbage.” And she laughs, a sort of surprised wheeze from her throat, and agrees, “But the garbage will do sometimes.”

 

Watching how his eyes roll into the back of his head at her reply makes her convinced he truly is a pretentious prince. She can almost imagine that expression on the princess, mocking other politicians for their obscene opinions. 

 

He is undeniably Leia and Han’s son.

 

A man passionate about flying, a man who knows both how to argue his case and fight his way through a crowd if necessary. 

 

Knowing he has invited her to fly his ship, a man of his stature, of his legacy makes her uncannily shy, and she gently hides her head a bit below her hands, watching him check the fuel tank. His dark hair is being pulled back by his hand in a less-than-senatorial way - it makes him look rugged, like a smuggler preparing to scout the galaxy for adventure.

 

She wonders what he would look like dressed in something less refined, more simple. A vest perhaps, or a  Rancor-leather jacket. His face tanned ever so slightly. 

 

What if he had been a smuggler like his father?

 

Would he have come to Jakku for parts?

 

Maybe he’d smile at her like he smiled at the librarian. 

 

The thought makes her cheeks tingle, and pure survival instinct spurs her into pulling herself over the threshold and into the cockpit, only knowing that she cannot have him catch her staring. She hears him shout  _ you take the front seat, I’ll take the back, gonna show you the ropes first. _

 

And before she has time to regret it, to have second thoughts, he too hurls himself over the ledge and crawls into the backseat, cape and coat discarded, leaving only his simple black tunic. 

 

It feels like they could almost be any two normal humans in the galaxy. A man and a woman taking out a modified X-wing for a ride. No First Order, no Force, no hurt or violence, no cunning political web.

 

Just Ben and Rey.

 

She allows herself to pretend that this is their reality as she buckles in and puts on the helmet. She can hear him fumble with the controls, pressing the buttons that close the hatch and make the engine hum and the hull shake. 

 

His deep voice rumbles in the small cabin as he confirms codes with the air traffic control tower.

 

Her throat is closing in on itself. 

 

Then his voice reverberates through the internal comm system, “ _ I’ll fly first, show you how it feels - and then you go, right?” _

 

“Yes,” she rasps, her heart beating loud and fast in her chest, her head light and airy.

 

In the corner of her eye she sees his hands encircle the handles, clenching hard around them, a practised grip, hesitating only for a second- 

 

\- And then he pulls back -

 

And they’re off.

  
  


*

 

 

Rey remembers flying with Han, remembers fleeing Jakku, avoiding the First Order, avoiding Unkar Plutt as they passed through wreckage, through starships even. She remembers where to push, where to pull, how to override the compressor.

 

And while it had been a first and a thrilling experience, it can barely compare to how it feels flying with Ben in the X-wing.

 

It’s... _ invigorating _ .

 

_ Nothing can ever compete with this. _

 

He flies fast, very fast, almost unkind in the way he turns and speeds around the canyon below them. 

 

No gentle rolls, only rough curves, sharp whirls, and dizzying spirals. 

 

He’s skilled, very. But it doesn’t feel like he is showing off, not when he keenly and openly tells her what he is doing, what to push, where to brake, what all the limits and possibilities of the ship are. 

 

They break the sound barrier far above a forest several miles outside of the capital, and they part the clouds with a violent display of force. It’s like cotton fluttering around them. Rey wishes she could touch them, throw her hands above her head and feel the clouds brushing against her fingers. Cold, freezing.

 

It is absolutely amazing.

 

A desperately happy squeal escapes her throat as he pivots downward into a blistering, whirlwind descent, so fast he barely manages to pull up before crashing into the ground and scaring a hoard of  nerfs  who flee in all directions. 

 

Spectacular, amazing, stupendous -

 

And just as she catches her breath, he asks -

 

"Are you ready?" 

 

"What?" she shouts, trying to look back over her shoulder -

 

"I'm handing over the controls now."

 

Her hands immediately grasp the control stick, and with no warning she feels it shake, every gust of wind forcing the ship in a different direction, making it a struggle to keep it level. 

 

Yet he doesn’t take over, doesn’t interrupt, he just sits still. His hand never strays over to the button that would transfer control back to him. 

 

He trusts her.

 

And then she starts to get the hang of it, slowly. She listens intently to his directions from the seat behind her, each one on point and precise. It is more difficult to fly than the Millennium Falcon - Rey had gone through flight simulations for those types of freighters and Imperial light fighters. But never an X-wing. 

 

She twirls, turns, and spirals, and then breaks the sound barrier as well. With his voice in her ear she finds herself growing more and more confident, more and more attuned to the fighter. 

 

And then she feels something...almost instinctual. Something that has always been there.

 

A harmony with everything around her. 

 

So she punches it.

 

Fast, reckless - like a true Rebellion pilot.

 

He huffs a surprised laugh when the g-force pushes them back in their seats, and she only takes that as encouragement.

 

And encouraged she is. 

 

Trying to remember navigating the hulls of giant starships, she flies directly into the canyon, hands tight on the controls. Slipping through the narrow cracks, barely sliding through the crystal cave, only to emerge into the bright sunlight on the other side of the planet - the sun not having set this far away. 

 

She hears herself laughing.

 

He still isn’t taking back control.

 

The trust is liberating, truly exhilarating.

 

Rey has never felt anything like this. 

 

She imagines Finn at her side, his fear and his yelling, or Poe’s insistence on staying in command, it being his X-wing, his lady. 

 

And with every hair-raising move she takes through the valley, she becomes more and more convinced that Poe never would have taken her flying. Never would have walked her around the ships, let her inspect the engines, let her just...fly. He would not have this almost  _ pleased  _ aura to him, like she feels of Ben from behind her. 

 

How she can almost see him sitting with a satisfied smile, arms crossed.

 

No one has ever trusted her like this before.

 

It makes a mess of her brain, of her heart.

 

Or maybe it’s the fact that she has pulled the control sticks backwards, forcing the X-wing into a steep climb, speeding towards the stratosphere. Shaking as the air around it pushes against them, as the clouds fall further and further behind them, all while avoiding giant cargo freighters and ships going to the capital.

 

And then…

 

The atmosphere stops...

 

Everything falls away.

 

No more shaking.

 

No rattling.

 

Pure space.

 

And the galaxy shines brightly in front of them. 

 

Its yellows, greens, and reds flickering as the light from far away stars struggles to reach them, stretching far far away.

 

She kills the engine, allowing only their breaths to be heard over the intercom system, as they calm themselves, taking in the sight before them.

 

“Beautiful,” Rey gasps, her chest rising and falling. She turns to look at the senator behind her, but he’s not looking out at the galaxy.

 

He’s looking at her.

 

“ _ Yeah _ ,” he replies, “ _ very _ .”

 

She blinks, suddenly feeling as if she is witnessing something sacred, something private and intimate, and quickly diverts her gaze, ignoring the tingling feeling from his gaze burning into her skin. And to make it even worse, he says nothing and just keeps looking at her as if she is...as if he thinks she is something…and...and...

 

...And is he leaning towards her?

 

“Why did you become a senator?” she blurts, trying everything in her power to distract him from whatever it is that just happened between them, whatever it is he is clearly reacting to, “You are obviously a really good pilot. Better than you are at politics by far.”

 

He is quiet for a while, but doesn’t sit back. Nor does he lean even closer to her. He stays put, focusing on the stars ahead of them, shrugging slightly. 

 

_ “I did, I wanted to be a pilot-”  _ his mouth moves in a silent thought, pulling his lips in as he sighs, almost defeatedly.  _ “But there were other plans for me.” _

 

Rey swallows, eyes tracing the sad lines of his face, coming to realize that yes, yes she was right. He is not a man who is cruel on purpose, who thrives on violence. He is just a man who feels devoid of choices, of opportunities or  _ purpose.  _

 

The realization is like a key. She feels it turning deep inside her, and the compassion she knows she has, but keeps locked so deep inside, springs forth, consuming her whole being. Making her desire nothing more than to help improve his condition. 

 

To make him smile, laugh, be happy.

 

She rasps, “You still can.” Their eyes lock.

 

Something small tugs at his lips, quick and fleeting. 

 

At that, she forces a grin on her face, a playful one, and gives him one small request.

 

“Want to teach me your craziest piloting tricks?”

 

At that he blinks, slightly surprised, and then he  _ almost  _ smirks, before flipping a switch, transferring control back to himself.

 

“ _ Fine _ .”

 

 

*

 

 

The senator allows Rey to land the X-wing in the hangar, directing her along the lighted path on the ground and the commands from air traffic control as she struggles to see anything clearly now that night has truly descended over the city. 

 

It’s slow, measured, and calculated, so unlike the buzzing feeling in her body - the restlessness of her knees, the permanent grin on her face.

 

It’s happiness.

 

Pure unadulterated happiness.

 

She has flown an X-wing.

 

And she was good at it.

 

She is jumping up and down even as she exits, ecstatic and giddy with excitement. Her limbs are warm and tingly and she can’t figure out where to put her hands or what to do as she waits for Ben to finish the shutdown sequence. She hears herself narrating every detail of their now 2 hour long flight into space back to him (as if he wasn’t there himself). The rush of it, the coolness, how awesome they had been, switching controls so easily - so in sync and...and…

 

“This was the best thing I’ve ever done!” Rey practically squeals as he crawls down the ladder, not smiling, but clearly pleased, and he replies in a calm voice, “You are welcome.”

 

When thinking about it later, Rey would attribute the thing that happened next to adrenaline, dopamine, the fact that he had surprised her, showed her a side of himself she had never dared think could be there. 

 

That he trusts her. 

 

Yes. 

 

That was without a doubt the cause of it all. Of the thing that was going to change everything between them. 

 

The reason why she hugs him.

 

Or

 

The reason why she practically jumps into his chest, squeezes her arms around his torso, and presses herself to him tightly. 

 

Tired and giddy, practically crushing him as she chants  _ thank you, thank you, thank you!  _ into the soft fabric of his tunic.

 

He tenses, back stiff and arms tight by his side, but he is warm - oh so warm and soft and she sighs into him, “Thank you so much! I can’t believe it. It was so amazing.”

 

And at her compliments and obvious satisfaction with him, he thaws, carefully extending his arms around her and pulling her closer. A tight gasp escapes him. 

 

_ Thump, thump, thump, thump  _ his heart speeds ahead, loud and comforting against her cheek and he smells good, nice and warm - like twilight next to her AT-AT, stomach full from dinner, the sun warming, but never scorching her skin. His hands rest heavily on her back, like an anchor, pulling her tighter and tighter into the abyss that is him.

 

And she is not scared.

 

Not right now at least.

 

She sighs.

 

And so does he, his nose digging into the softness of her hair, almost like he is smelling her too. Does she give off a good scent? Does she please him too? She is almost about to ask, but instead she turns her head and rests her cheek against the stubble close to his ear. “Thank you,” she whispers,  _ again _ . Drunk on adrenaline and dopamine, and just so happy.

 

He draws a breath, his body slightly trembling, and allows himself to pull her tighter. There’s no reply in words, only in action, and he’s so warm and soft and Rey thinks she could easily sleep in his arms, tucked inside the crook of his elbow, snoring away.

 

The prickle is there, but it doesn’t feel like the usual one, it feels like something else. How her arms hum and her lower stomach grows warm, the way everything is flushed, but in the most pleasant way. Like spiraling down in an X-wing into a canyon.

 

His lips brush her ear, and in a raspy voice he finally answers.

 

“You were amazing.”

 

With no clear explanation as to why Rey reacts how she reacts, the sound of his soft voice and his lips against her ear makes her press her pelvis against his, as she tries to alleviate the heat flaming inside her at his words, gasping -  _ against _ him _.  _

 

He grabs at her shirt, mouthing in her ear - 

 

\- And groans. 

 

The raw, involuntary sound is what snaps her out of it. 

 

She jumps out of his embrace and for good measure takes a few steps even further back, panting, blinking, confused and scared. 

 

Averting his piercing gaze. 

 

“Yeah - uh, yeah - thank you! Uh. You too!” She scrambles, “You are a very good pilot.” 

 

_ Why is he looking so dumbstruck? Is he okay? Should she call a medic? _

 

She signals with her thumb towards the door, “I...I need to go back now. I...busy day tomorrow.”

 

He swallows, seeming to slowly come back from whatever daze he too was in.  Without hesitation, almost as if running on autopilot, he tells her he’ll take her back, summoning the airspeeder with a flick of his commlink with a practised hand. 

 

A confused, disbelieving expression remains on his face as they both leave the hangar. 

 

Feet apart

 

Never touching.

 

Yet, Rey can’t help but notice his hand flexing - over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I could have found a bunch of interesting ships, but let’s just stick to the basics, okay? [690 light freighter](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/690_light_freighter), [A-wing](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/A-wing_starfighter), [TIE-fighters](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/TIE/ln_space_superiority_starfighter).
> 
> And was Palpatine really such a sadistic piece of shit? [Yes](https://i.imgur.com/ufeX6LI.jpg).
> 
> Also, who are the people making all of these ships? Meet [Kuat Systems Engineering](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kuat_Systems_Engineering) . If you give them this discount code REYLOISCANON you get a 20 percent off your next purchase. 
> 
> Who the fuck are the [fuckheads](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Before_the_Awakening) who stole Rey’s ship and left her on Jakku? According to [“Before the Awakening”](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Before_the_Awakening) , your new enemies are [Devi and Strunk](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Devi_\(scavenger\)). Block them on Twitter. 
> 
> Also here’s a bunch of aliens: [Ithorian](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ithorian), [Koboks](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kobok).
> 
> Why wasn’t anyone herding these [nerfs](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nerf)!?
> 
> Bugs, those exists in Star Wars! And no - they don’t all kill you. Some like fire: [Blaze Bug](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Blaze_bug) \- and some are just random: [Sriluurian butterflies](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sriluurian_butterfly). 
> 
> [Stoopa](https://www.liveabout.com/star-wars-insults-and-expletives-2958001). Need we say more?


	15. Black Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously, on Reset to Default: Rey is like - hey we should have Ben help us figure out what the deal is with his mom. Casterfo is like ‘you are gonna regret this but okay.’ Ben is being a whiny little bitch about it and Rey is like ‘dude chill the fuck out. Let’s be friends’  
> And by friends I mean ‘let’s-take-a-super-romantic-ride-in-an-x-wing-and-have-a-not-so-friendly-very-sexual-hug’
> 
> Also Ben thinks Re-uh-the galaxy (!) is very beautiful.
> 
> Sigh. These two. 
> 
> Better throw in some tropes to rail them in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my love to [ alpha reader Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder) and if it is at ALL readable, it is due to the warming presence of my [ beta reader Blessmycircuits!](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits). They work so hard and I love them. 
> 
> All the UWUS

 

Her breath is shallow, her hands fidget in her lap,  and she is physically pressing herself against the cabin wall, trying her utmost to get as far away from the senator as possible. 

 

She keeps glancing at him, as if she needs something from him, a sign, a glimmer of hope - but he doesn’t relent, doesn’t respond to her mixed signals, and instead just stares ahead. His breath is shallow too, his gaze clouded, as if he is lost to a thought.

 

She practically jumps out of the speeder the moment they arrive on the landing platform. Her feet hit the pavement before the door is even fully open, slamming into puddles left over from a brief shower, needing to get away from him, from her thoughts, from her feelings.

 

She has no clue whether or not he calls her name. Whether he exhales, relieved by her departure, or if he desperately wants her to come back. 

 

Would she go back?

 

No!

 

No, she can’t chase that idea, not with his breathy sighs still ringing in her ears, not with how warm she feels - no. 

 

No.

 

No.

 

The lights are off in Casterfo’s apartment and she hurries to the back door, punching in the code with trembling fingers, never daring to look over her shoulder - because...because...what if he followed her?

 

Her cheeks flame at the possibility. Having him draw closer to her, his heavy feet slowly sneaking up behind her, his breath puffing warmly against her neck.  _ Invite me inside _ , he would rasp. 

 

“No”, she whispers pathetically to herself. 

 

_ Yes _ , his hand would drag across her shoulder, down her arm -

 

The door whooshes open and it is enough to momentarily derail her train of thought. She sighs in relief at escaping her own mental conjuring, glancing briefly behind herself to check that it was truly just a figment of her imagination. That the blaster door closes on nothing. That no one has followed her.

 

She is alone. 

 

The staff hall devoid of all life but her own.

 

And she will not chase the small feeling of disappointment she feels at that. 

 

She will not.

 

The light flickers momentarily when she enters her room, blinding her as she falls back onto her bed. Her heart slams into her ribcage, hurting, jogging ahead, never caring to wait for her and her mind to catch up, to allow her to understand what is happening. 

 

She is left behind by her own emotions, incapable of making sense of why she feels what she feels, of why her lower stomach burns and itches, craving... something.

 

Something she can give it. She has done it before after all, in the solitude of her AT-AT.

 

But her heart desires something else.

 

A sob breaks from her throat and she forces her hands off the bed and buries her palms in her eyes, tears trailing down her cheeks. Overwhelmed by her own body, her own mission, and the fact that  _ she is crying over this. _ Shedding tears because it was not supposed to be like this. It was not supposed to go this way and...and…

 

It is not the first time she has done this.

 

Far from it.

 

It is not the first time she has felt the overwhelming need, the urge for release, something to calm her mind and spirit, something to make her sleep... less …  _ restless _ . Less... _ yearning _ .

 

Yes.

 

It is not the first time she has done this.

 

Yet, it has never felt like this.

 

Which somehow explains a lot of things that would come to pass the following days.

 

And maybe that’s why her hands eventually seem to move on their own, lost to whatever chase her mind is not willingly consenting to. Wanting something for some reason she can’t fathom because everything is hot, and on fire, and wild and…

 

She imagines him here. 

 

Lying down next to her, concerned, the bed shifting under his weight. 

 

She imagines his ear against hers. His lips, soft and pink. His hand, strong and heavy against her back. How he would lie next to her, warm and large, a thumb wiping off her tears, whispering.  _ It’s okay. It’s okay.  _

 

_ Is it? _ She thinks. Her shaky hands slip over her pant buttons, struggling to free them. Maybe that’s why she never bothers to pull them off entirely. Her other hand snakes up to embrace the soft flesh of her chest, imagining it to be his, her shirt fabric scratching against her palms.

 

It is a curse, she finds, that Rey has always been good at imagining this, because his mouth kissing another errant tear feels almost real, his warm hand trailing down her stomach feels almost real, tickling its way down, down, down...

 

Her hair is coarse, rough, her hand mimics his imagined path.

 

And then it’s all stars, blooming, exploding …

 

Her hand and heart racing ahead -

 

Leaving her mind behind again. 

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

And when she finally falls asleep, she does so idle from embarrassment, restless, yet  unaware of what several things happening in the galaxy are slowly setting into motion. 

  
  
  


 

*

  
  


 

Finn, while turning around on his bed, hears a crunching sound underneath his pillow.

 

Where the secret comm is supposed to be.

 

 

*

  
  


 

Rose Tico boards a freighter with her sister Paige, taking them from D’gar to Birren. 

  
  


 

*

 

 

Han dreams. Of red lightsabers. Of pathways. Of playing sabacc with Chewie. Of having to fight a giant Jogan fruit and then his blaster becoming huge, taller than him. Of Ben complaining about his many nannies, including one that hadn’t even lasted 2 minutes. A girl with three buns, an unhappy smile and-

 

He awakens, sweating, blinking against the backdrop of a hyperspace tunnel, swirling and twirling around them. 

 

And an unsettling thought takes root in his mind. 

 

Only to be quickly dismissed, “Must be the brandy…”

  
  


 

*

 

 

Luke bids goodbye to his students, asking the elder pupils to take care of the younger ones. Ensuring that the droids are safe and sound, that their programs are not faulty. 

 

He brings a compass with him. A special one. He has to have it.

 

The X-wing’s engine is old and coughs a bit before it whirs into action.

 

Taking him where he needs to go.

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

Poe grins at a young New Republic pilot flying below him towards the CR90 corvette. He’s impressed by how he had outmaneuvered a First Order red tie-fighter, how they had tricked it. Just as daring and bold as he is.

 

Perfect material for the Resistance.

 

Kaz, the New Republic pilot, laughs up at him from below. 

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

And Leia.

 

Leia is spring cleaning, walking through the remnants of Birren Castle’s previous occupant, Lord Mellowyn. He was a fond collector of odd and peculiar things, of things from Alderaan and Arkanis. She finds stuff from her parents and even some of her own toys (which she finds a bit strange). C-3PO goes through the inventory list, checking the boxes, putting things into digital piles of what should go and what shouldn’t.

 

And when they are done, even after several recounts they find that one thing is missing.

 

_ A music box. _

  
  


 

*

 

 

A cloaked First Order ship goes into orbit around Hosnian Prime. 

  
  


 

*

 

 

“No! You haven’t tried  Batuu Brew ?!” Taman practically shrieks, clearly audible even through the door to the reception area of his office. Casterfo smiles, going through the proposals for the  senate  session, three days from now. The voices of Taman and Rey sound happy and light, even though he can’t properly discern what their conversation is about.

 

It is comforting to hear the office slowly returning to some light banter, rather than strenuous tension, and for the last few days, Rey’s absolutely miserable mood. And he wonders if it had been a mistake for him to agree to recruit Senator Solo. He is already involved with the Resistance, and maybe inviting him to find out more information about Leia and her real parents was too much pressure on Rey. 

 

Somehow he assumes something vile or disastrous had happened, because the senator’s office hadn’t contacted his, nor had Rey mentioned anything about the outcome of her recruitment efforts.

 

Sometimes he worries that he underestimates or forgets how much Leia’s son yearns to be right. His disregard for anyone who dares stand in his way. Rey had never seemed like a person that would be easily scared, she had a fighter in her. 

 

But he does ponder it, especially considering how forcefully he heard her reject some holocalls the last few days. If Senator Solo had….

 

_ Drrriiiiiiiiing _ , the buzzer sounds, and a scratchy voice calls over the intercom, “Sir, Senator Xiono’s assistant is here.”

  
  


 

*

 

 

The sound of music, laughter, and talking is clear, even through the soundproof blaster door of the vast Vandron estate. Something big must be happening inside and Rey looks up to see if she can discern the origin of the sounds. But the Vandrons are wealthy, and the building is a wide skyscraper, stretching high above the Hosnian Prime skyline. The gravel crunches when she shifts on her feet, waiting for someone to answer the door. The coded message tight in her hands. 

 

_ Not for her eyes, _ the assistant had insisted, _ but it needs to get there as fast as possible. No stopping along the way. _

 

_ Get there right away, give the message directly to him. _

 

_ To Senator Xiono. _

 

It had surprised Rey, that the assistant had so easily trusted her, but she had seemed desperate enough to let any doubts recede. _ Thank you so much, _ the assistant had cried as she jumped into the air taxi, speeding off to her sick child at the Hosnian Prime University hospital. Her son was far more important than her duties with the senator. 

 

Deep inside Rey understands understands why the assistant abandoned her post, but how easily she suddenly placed her trust in Rey made her feel strange and confused.

 

Mostly because It reminded her a bit too much about a certain brooding senator. 

 

And how he had trusted her so easily with his X-wing.

 

Something she should not waste time thinking about. 

 

Yet, he had been the only thing on her mind. 

 

Constantly.

 

Something he should not be. 

 

That. he. should. not. be.

 

Or...at least not the specific things about him that her thoughts seem to circle around... Thoughts of his eyes, lips, voice. His body and warm hands. Stuff that had nothing to do with the First Order or the Resistance. Nothing to do with the reasons she is here on Hosnian Prime at all.

 

Of all the things she promised Leia she’d do.

 

Or why she left Jakku and stayed away.

 

And if those are not reasons enough, his persistent presence in her thoughts had been distracting. 

 

Very.

 

To the point where she feels constantly on the edge. The lack of focus annoys her, like bugs crawling under her skin. She’s tense, at her breaking point. She sleeps fitfully, her appetite has disappeared, her head feels perpetually cloudy, and Rey feels that she is absolutely ready to snap at someone. 

 

Which she has. 

 

Several times.

 

At droids, other staff, even briefly at Casterfo.

 

But especially when  _ he _ called the office a few days ago. Or his miserable assistant had.

 

Coward.

 

He deserved having the comm cut immediately. 

 

Which she had, with a slam of her hand. 

 

First, she can blame her actions on being surprised, then that she was mad at him (which she is, she knows no other feeling about him), but finally she admits (albeit only to herself) -

 

That she doesn’t even know what to say to him.

 

It was for the best. Just...let it die. Fade away. 

 

Yes.

 

Yes.

 

That’s what she had decided to do.

 

Now, if Finn would have just responded when she called earlier, maybe he could’ve helped her make sense of this.  _ Why hadn’t he replied? _

 

And just then, The blaster door whooshes open and reveals a glamorously dressed human, Not a butler droid, a human, looking rather irked by someone calling at this hour. 

 

“How can I help you?” the man speaks, cautiously.

 

Rey lifts up the holodisc, “I am here on behalf of Senator Xiono’s assistant, Kamen. She asked me to deliver this.”

 

The human reaches out with his white-gloved hands, but the scavenger in her is quick to step back, “I was asked to deliver this personally.” She knew nothing but the fact that the information was important and never to leave her sight.

 

A frown marks the servant’s face, but when she provides him her ID, and a hastily written note from Kamen, the servant relents.  

 

“Fine.” He turns the note over in his hands, tightening his lips. 

 

With an urgent gesture, he escorts her inside, into the glimmering entrance hall, where the columns stretch far above her, and the walls are white  chronium . Where the floor is so black and shiny that Rey could easily use it as a mirror. And see how dirty her shoes are.

 

As they go further and further up, the mumbling becomes noise, the snickering laughter, and the humming exquisite melodies. They pause at an alcove overlooking the source of the commotion, an opulently decorated exotic garden, filled to the brim with the most elegant looking people Rey has ever seen. 

 

They were even better looking than the ones from the party she had crashed on Birren. 

 

“Wait here,” the servant sternly replies. “I need to ask the Senator if he will receive you. Stay out of sight,” and with those words he hastily opens the door to the stairs leading down into the animated party. 

 

It allows Rey to really take in the scene before her. 

 

She steps closer to the window, looking down at all the shimmering, golden forms dancing, talking, and laughing.  _ Who are these people?  _ she ponders, studying their headpieces of pure rubies and diamonds, their dresses big and small, men with painted eyes and dyed hair, and aliens draped in fine silks and  Zeyd-cloth .

 

Rey extends her neck just a tad, turning her brown eyes upwards, and sees several white curtains shielding the people below, hiding the beautiful night sky. Small crystal chandeliers bathe the entire garden in a soft comfortable yellow light. 

 

It looks beautiful, almost romantic. 

 

And the people dancing in the center twirl around like this is a thing they were born to do, with never an insecure step or stumble. Something natural. 

 

_ Would she be able to ever move like that? _ she wonders, humming along to the songs she doesn’t know - yet, but seems to easily tune in to. Like they have always been there, deep inside her. Her elbows rest on the cool marble of the windowsill, glad to be hidden in the shadows. A good spectator, innocent, no trouble -

 

“Rey?” a sharp voice calls.

 

Her feet skid against the floor. Squealing loudly as she jumps at hearing her name. She looks up to find no one but -

 

Carise Sindian. 

 

Of course.

 

Dressed in a deep blue  dreamsilk dress, and accompanied to her left by a shorter, tanned red-haired man wearing a bright golden tunic.

 

“What are you doing here?” Carise asks, stepping closer. The man seems both wary of and deeply bored by Rey’s presence.

 

Rey straightens her back. “I have a message for Senator Xiono. I’m waiting for the uh- butler to get him?”

 

“Oh, and he made you wait in here?” A look of genuine disapproval crosses Carise’s face, and she turns her eyes back to her bored companion. “Theala Vandron, this your party, surely you can’t have her stand here and wait for your butler? She’ll be here all night!” The golden man blinks at her words, and before he can reply, Carise reaches out eagerly. “Let us take this to him.”

 

For the second time that evening, Rey is forced to clutch the message close to her chest. “I’m sorry. I was asked to deliver this personally.”

 

A nerve twitches underneath Carise’s eye. “Oh?” and the couple look at each other. Vandron too appears struck by Rey’s defiance, but the beautiful woman from Arkanis is not deterred. Her lips curl into a well-meaning, yet cruel smile, and before the younger owner of the estate has time to reply, she pushes Rey by her shoulder. 

 

Surprised by the sudden turn of her evening, Rey half stumbles down the stairs, into the light. Cold golden rings dig into her skin through her uniform. A kind hand guiding her, yet...also not. 

 

Had it been Jakku, Rey would have turned around and knocked her head off.

 

Funny how easily 20 years of habits can leave you after just three months somewhere else. Wanting to fit in. To please other people.

 

The thought alone makes Rey feel sick. 

 

“Watch out,” Carise says, and pulls the scavenger slightly off to the left, avoiding crashing into a very large  alien . He growls something back, and that’s when Rey notices. 

 

Everyone is staring at her. Not by a lot, but there’s no mistaking it, how heads turn as she is forcefully shoved through the crowd. Their eyes narrow, trailing her form, her unruly hair, her sunburned skin, and the simple uniform of an assistant.

 

This is not for her. This is not her place.

 

Rey does not belong with these people.

 

And she is reminded - as she swallows the hurt - 

 

That she does not know this world. 

 

She has tried hard to adjust, to please her master, to please Leia, but obviously, when it comes down to it, they see right through her. 

 

There’s something important in that thought. Rey knows it. That the epiphany it will give her will finally, truly make her see what she has to do. To understand what she is doing. Yet, before she can even begin to fathom what this knowledge will mean for her, Carise pushes her in front of a large group of aliens and humans by the  sabacc  table. 

 

Carise’s hand still clutches her bicep.

 

“Senator Xiono!” Rey hears her call, and a tall, dark-haired -  _ very _ flushed - man turns away from the group, lazily swirling a glass of wine in his hand. 

 

“Lady Carise,” he replies, a bored tone to his voice, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek, which she dutifully returns. “How are you?”

 

“Good, good,” she purrs, “Very busy. You?”

 

Senator Xiono scoffs and audibly sighs, “As I just told the others, my nefarious son is up to no good. Apparently he has  _ defected _ to Leia Organa’s ragtag ‘resistance’ a few days ago.” His hand gestures his obvious distaste, and Carise, almost too perfectly, gasps in surprise as he continues, “Run off to some backwater planet somewhere…” 

 

“How terrible!” Carise replies, and Rey notices how the senator’s social circle nods in agreement, “I can’t believe the Senate gives her a free pass on everything. Someone really ought to look into all her exemptions.” The venom is clear in her voice. 

 

The senator merely sighs, “I never thought my son would fall into the hands of such extremists. I knew the New Republic flight academy was a bad choice.”

 

It is not new for Rey to hear how badly Leia is perceived in the New Republic, that she is eccentric, gone crazy in her old age. How much of a hazard it is to still have her affiliated with the Republic. Should the Senate so openly support her cause?

 

It is not easy, putting on a neutral face, ignoring the bitterness in her stomach and the way her hand flexes at her side as they continue on. This was not what she signed up for, she isn’t prepared. Not ready to just ignore their bad opinions, to let them fight.

 

But she can’t forget the disaster with Ro-Kiintor.

 

Not when she just got back into Casterfo’s good graces. 

 

“You could not have known,” a sympathetic voice rises over the crowd. “Leia has always been good at rallying people. Just be glad she never got to be First Senator.” Carise agrees, and comforts him. He mutters something along the lines of  _ never considered him an extremist.  _

 

Rey frowns, forcing her eyes to her feet, trying to determine how long she has to stand here before she can hand him the holodisc. Could she interrupt them? 

 

And then someone else speaks.

 

“You complain about the old princess of Alderaan like she has any power, but may I remind you all that you hold the real power.”

 

The hair on her neck prickles.

 

She knows that voice.

 

Her eyes flick up, and then she sees him…

 

Even taller and paler than she could have imagined, now that his skin is no longer blue.

 

The scowl looks possibly even worse in-person.

 

Eyes tired and so pale. So very pale.

 

It’s the general from the holo Rey fixed.

 

The one who talked about a “Kylo Ren”.

 

He’s here.

 

“Armitage!” Carise exclaims, “How lovely to see a fellow Arkanisian! It is nothing but  Alderaanians and  Republic crowd  at this point.” 

 

He doesn’t reply immediately, his face never moving a muscle, but he leans over to kiss the senator on her cheek, careful not to smudge her makeup. And then with a sharp tongue, “Here on work. No time for fun, your ladyship.”

 

Carise gives him a tender smile, almost like there is an inside joke between them. “Did Vandron invite you? I hope you do have time for dinner sometime next week? I can bring my charge with me -”

 

She should pay attention. Listen carefully. But Rey’s ears are ringing, their words become muffled, and all she sees is the harsh, very real face of the man who called Ben Solo “Kylo Ren”.

 

The man who wore the red insignia of the First Order.

 

He’s here.

 

Here. 

 

Her heart stutters in her chest, coldness prickles down her back, and she feels her palms grow sweaty.

 

What is going on?

 

How…

 

Is this…

 

Why does Carise…

 

Can this be …

 

Rey grabs this holodisc, feeling its sharp edges dig into her skin. She needs to get answers. He will have to give her answers, and just as the general’s eyes fall to her...

 

Cosmic interference. Happy accident. You name it.

 

Rey sees Leia’s son. Past the bodies of the general, in a crowd of hundreds, even with several people blocking her view, she sees him. 

 

Dressed in dark clothing as always, his hair loosely braided with thick strands of ribbon, neither gold nor silver, but shiny and expensive looking. Twirling a woman on the dance floor. And they are standing close, far too close, her lips are poised at his ear as she tells him something that makes him smile.

 

That makes him smile.

 

Rey’s throat dries, unable to break away from this sudden distraction, and her gaze so thoroughly transfixed to him that she doesn’t hear Carise address her. Not until she harshly digs a fingernail into her arm. Rey almost revives at that, turning her head back to the group, fumbling with her words, mumbling a soft ‘sorry’. She’s embarrassed at her slip and when she turns to address Xiono, her gaze happens on Senator Solo once more -

 

And he looks up - directly at her.

 

Or, he tries to. 

 

She sees him blink, surprised, and then with hasty effort he tries to stretch his neck over his partner’s head, scouting for Rey through the crowd of people observing from the rim of the dance floor. The prince looks half stunned, half eager, ready to drop his beautiful partner to - 

 

“Didn’t you have something for the senator?” Carise’s annoyingly smug voice whispers in her ear. Rey’s head snaps to hers, seeing that yes, the cunning lady of Arkanis saw everything. She knows. 

 

It should make Rey frustrated, alert, and it does, but it’s a good thing. It reminds Rey exactly who she is dealing with, and that she is not safe.

 

Not even here in a crowd of thousands. 

 

And what she is here to do. 

 

“Yes.” Rey spits, and twists on her feet, ignoring the small, knowing smirk on Carise’s painted lips, and hands Senator Xiono the holodisc. Sputtering something along the lines of,  _ your assistant asked me to deliver this to you. It’s urgent.  _ And why is the general looking at her? His eyes are narrowed.

 

Carise’s nails still dig into her bicep and why are they all looking behind her?

 

“Rey?” Her skin crawls. 

 

_ Kriff _ .

 

She hears him speak her name again from the crowd behind her, sounding maybe a bit desperate. Everyone is staring at him, even Carise has turned her head. Yet Rey finds she cannot face him, that her courage falters. Not with how her heart is jumping inside her chest. 

 

And then she feels him, directly behind her. And with an almost uncharacteristically shy gesture, she carefully twists her head so she can see him from the corner of her eye.

 

Time stops.

 

The music disappears.

 

Because he’s here and he...looks at her like she...like he thinks she...and...and...when did he begin to look so?

 

“Senator Solo.” Hux barks from in front of her. 

 

The mood changes instantly. 

 

Ben’s head quickly snaps away from her and directly to the general of the First Order. 

 

Like he hadn’t noticed him.

 

Senator Solo doesn’t reply. A grim expression is on his face. 

 

Hux frowns, she sees it, and the remaining senators look at Leia’s son with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, muttering amongst themselves.

 

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” Ben softly hisses at Hux, his hand flexing at his side. 

 

“What am I doing here? I am working. Unlike some peopl-”

 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Carise interrupts, trying to diffuse the situation. But to no avail, as the red-haired man and Leia’s son begin to argue, throwing none-too-gentle insults at each other. 

 

Rey sees Ben waver, and only then notices his flushed face and the stench from his breath.

 

He’s drunk.

 

The realization feels harsh and unpalatable, like the taste of an  roonan lemon. 

 

She turns to Carise and says, “Can I go now?” and the woman looks almost baffled that she is still here, but gives her a quick, “Of course,” and with those words, Rey pushes herself through the crowd to leave.

 

“Hey! - no, let go-” Senator Solo’s voice desperately calls from behind, and she hears a woman shriek,  _ watch it. _ “Rey!”

 

The merrymakers part reluctantly as she forces them aside by her shoulder, her steps hastening towards the stairs, even though she knows she probably can’t escape him. 

 

Unexpectedly though, she doesn’t feel his hand wrap around her wrist before she steps onto the marble steps and then yanks her back. “Hey!” he calls once more, forcing her to turn towards him. 

 

Were it not for everything else that happened, Rey might have felt pity at seeing him look at her with such utter forlornness. The way his drunken mind seemed to overwhelm his sensibility, or eroded every wall shielding his emotions, now so clear on his face. But all the things that had happened,  _ had happened _ and so instead she scowls.

 

“What do you want?” she hisses under hear breath, trying to wrest her arm back. 

 

A disbelieving sound escapes his mouth. “What do I want?” Rey raises her chin, jaw tense, but doesn’t reply. He shakes his head, gaping. He counters, “Why are you running?” 

 

“I am not here to party!” The frustration crawls under her skin, so close to breaking her tense facade. “I actually have a job to do.”

 

“You can stay.”

 

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

 

He steps closer to her, climbing the stairs slowly. People are starting to turn their heads, but Ben seems unconcerned  about it all. “Stay”, he gulps. 

 

Rey looks at him. Really looks at him. His perfectly combed hair, his regal clothes, his striking face. She looks at the people behind him, all equally astounding.

 

While it is not the first time she has seen him dressed in finery- 

 

It is the first time he looks like _ the prince  _ she knows him to be.

 

Heir to Birren, son of Princess Leia Organa.

 

Royalty.

 

That knowledge sinks like a heavy stone in her stomach. Knowing he’s not a simple man, a smuggler, as she had daydreamed of during their trip a mere few days ago.

 

No. He’s a prince. Someone of galactic importance (regardless of where his allegiances lie), and Rey is a scavenger. 

 

Something she has never cared about before. 

 

But back then she didn’t know what other worlds were like.

 

She knows now.

 

“This is not for me.”

 

He blinks, “What?” only to appear to suddenly understand, and begins to chuckle, “Those are just dumb titles, Rey.”

 

“Ben-” she tries, but he interrupts her, taking a step further toward her so they are almost eye-to-eye. “I - we need to talk ...about the other day.” Rey shakes her head, “No. No  _ we  _ don’t.”

“We do.” He half growls, “Why else are you running away from me?”

 

“I am not running away from you! I need to go back to work.”

 

An exasperated laugh escapes him, “You do?” and he takes another scrutinizing look at her face. “Ah. You do.” Mocking her. Slurring his words a bit.

 

Rey pulls at her arm, but he’s stronger and just tightens his grasp. Not gentle like he was with her a few days ago, no, not now. A good reminder of who he truly is, a man who knows how to inflict pain. She needs to be careful around him.

 

“You are drunk,” she decides, frowning.

 

He snaps, “What does that have to do with anything?”

 

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

 

“I know perfectly well what I’m saying!” She turns to the side to let a guest pass them on the steps. “Rey, you can’t just pretend that -” but Ben doesn’t move aside.

 

A large  Herglic collides directly with his form, spilling her drink on her white  polyweave dress and screaming. Ben’s hand automatically lets go of Rey. A frustrated growl escapes him, ”Watch out!”

 

The  Herglic’s husband emerges from behind her and shouts something back, which Ben recoils from, only to slur drunkenly, “My fault?” and proceed to tell the  Herglic just how not his fault this is. An argument ensues between them. As the tears fall on the woman’s face, a butler droid desperately attempts to clean the dress. 

 

Rey stands on the steps and just then the human butler sees her. He’s red in the face, obviously unhappy to see her  _ not where he asked her to be _ , not to mention in the middle of a fight. She turns, starting to flee up the stairs.

 

Ben notices, and shouts her name, unsteady on his feet, trying to get rid of the Herglic trying to demand compensation. But instead of letting Ben go, the alien grabs his arm, hissing -

 

And Ben growls, “Loz noy jitat.”

 

The sound of bones being crushed is unmistakable -

 

And so is the violent ‘oof’ that follows. 

 

Afraid of what Ben has done, she turns to defend the couple, only to see the senator clutching his face, with blood spilling onto his shirt. The alien keeps shouting, and then several guards arrive, attempting to pull them apart.

 

She sees Ben slowly lift his hand to his face, scrutinizing the blood with confusion, and then anger.

 

Something shifts in the air, something harsh, violent, and full of malicious intent. Like a force drawing on everything around it, all the pain and the hurt. And Rey sees Ben lift his hand to -

 

“Don’t!” she whispers, grabbing his wrist as he had done to hers. She’s slightly breathless from jumping back down the stairs. His eyes snap to hers, his bloody face a gruesome sight, but before they can even say anything, the guards surround them and pull the parties apart. The alien shouts profanities and the human butler begins to usher Ben inside by his back, giving him a tissue to stop the bleeding.

 

Rey follows, still holding his wrist.

  
  


 

*

  
  


 

Rey looks tired. 

 

Or at least, she thinks does, as she leans over the basin, inspecting her slightly fuller face in the bathroom’s fluorescent lighting. It’s either that, or some sort of weird optical illusion due to the bathroom aesthetics beings more important than functionality. It has dark  nihil smokestone walls, gold-encrusted sinks, and weird fragrances that perfume the air. There are deep, heavy lines around her eyes, and her mouth seems to be stuck in some sort of perpetual frown ever since she arrived here.

 

She sighs through her nose, drawing in a deep breath, trying to gather some energy after a long day of senate meetings, errands and now...this.

 

There are voices speaking on the other side of the door, a droid and a few humans. Discussing the senator’s state of being she supposes, not that she would know much, having been escorted by a butler droid directly into the bathroom to clean up. 

 

Rey looks down the front of her chest, finding a small trail of splattered blood beginning to soak and dry into her jacket. She takes a small towel from below the sink and rinses it with water before dabbing the blood off as best as she can. She tries to make out the words being spoken behind her - to no avail. 

 

Casterfo won’t be happy. 

 

A small knock comes from the door and it opens, revealing a soft-looking servant dressed in a rich burgundy suit. Rey gives her a timid smile.

 

“Will you be okay?” the servant asks, glancing at Rey’s ruined shirt. The scavenger in her shrugs, caring little for things like that, and it seems to be enough for the staff representative. The girl adds, “Thank you helping. He is fine, not a pretty sight, but fine. Do I need to call someone for you? It’s very late.”

 

“No, its fine,“ Rey replies, “have you contacted his secretary?”

 

“Yes. He should be here in half an hour, along with his driver,” the servant confirms, voice light as if trained to behave a certain way.

 

“Okay,” Rey nods, tightening the knots on her buns. “I can wait here with him. Make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. Is he concussed?”

 

“Not that we know of. And please do. He asked for you.” There’s a strange glint in the servant’s eye, something that makes Rey frown, but she doesn’t interrupt. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to summon us.” And with that she turns on her feet, marching out the room. 

 

Rey nods and waits...and waits, before she finally manages to gather her courage. 

 

She draws another breath deep into her lungs before she steps out into the attached living room in some random guest quarters their host has graciously lent them. Or...hid them in.

 

Rey finds the senator resting on a couch, pressing against the back as a droid tends to his eye - dabbing something on it. He looks absolutely miserable, slumped in on himself, here in the half darkness of the room, except for a small accent lamp near the windows that casts them in a deep shadow.

 

Is she a bit nervous? She feels a bit like that as she walks towards them, taking in the scene before her. And he’s watching her approach, she sees it clearly the closer she gets, but he isn’t leering, nor looking predatory, but rather more like - cautious?

 

This self-sabotaging trash fire of a man is cautious of her.

 

Like he shouldn’t be wary of himself.

 

“Why can’t you just…” she exhales with frustration, “be nice?”

 

The droid begins to dab something on the senator’s eye and he tries his best not to disrupt the meticulous treatment of his eye, yet she sees him blink. Taken aback by her statement.

 

“Nice? As in just standing there and letting him insult me?”

 

Rey groans and steps around the coffee table. “If you weren’t so insistent on making an enemy out of everyone, then maybe he wouldn’t have insulted you.”

 

He looks absolutely appalled by her. “And did you come here to lecture me about my own personality?”

 

“No. I came here because I had to deliver something - but you wouldn’t let me leave.”

 

“Let you…” Ben waves his hand at the droid’s arm and it stops immediately, stalling its treatment of the eye, “We both know if you wanted to leave you would’ve left. No reason to pretend you have other motives.”

 

“Fine,” Rey says, crossing her arms, “tell me about the red-haired man.”

 

That was obviously not what he expected her to say. “Who?”

 

“The man with Xiono. With Carise. The Arkanisian.”

 

“What’s he to you?”

 

Rey scoots closer to him, their knees almost touching. “No. What is he  _ to you _ ?” The droid begins to wipe the eye with a cloth, removing whatever cream it had applied earlier.

 

“Rey…” he tries, attempting to deter her, just like before with Carise - but Rey is not interested.

 

She wants to know.

 

“No.” Rey counters, leaning even further towards him, “Answer me.”

 

“What do I get in return?” he mockingly replies, the droid seeming to finally have finished its painstaking treatment.

 

“I won’t murder you.”

 

He laughs at that. Crooked, pearly-white teeth and Rey hasn’t ever heard him laugh. It’s a wheezy sort of chuckle, as if she is endlessly amusing him. It does something funny to her stomach. A heavy sweetness settles in her bones, it makes her shy, insecure.

 

“Are you still drunk?” Because that can only be the reason why he seems so easy to pry information from...so easy to make...amiable. 

 

He is almost...kind.

 

Ben shrugs and reaches over the back of the couch to grab the ice bag from the droid, “Maybe - not a lot by now,” and places it over his eye, sighing. He puts it in the wrong place.

 

Something bold and courageous overtakes her body and she moves from the table to the couch, placing her knees beside him as she yanks the ice pack from his hand. His breathing stiffens and he genuinely looks surprised. Rey wants to laugh at how he wants to be cool and collected, but in reality, he is just destructive, even to himself. So transparent and almost a bit pathetic.

 

She gently places it over his eye, and whispers, “Who is he? Tell me, and I’ll be nice.”

 

A soft pause passes and then he tells her what she guesses is only some of it. That his name is Armitage Hux, that he is from Arkanis. His father Brendol Hux was a part of the Empire. That Hux presumably murdered him. It is very common knowledge that Hux is with the First Order. But Ben doesn’t know much besides rumours.

 

Rey presses the ice pack a bit more firmly against his eye and he exhales, the coldness easing the pain. “Why is he here then? Isn’t the First Order the enemy of the Republic?” she asks, surprisingly softly, even to her own ears. 

 

Ben sighs, his eyes almost tender, “The galaxy is not that simple. The Senate may support Leia, but beneath it all, there are many who support the Empire - or its remains. Enough that it is not unusual to see… people from the First Order here.”

 

“Do you count as one of them?”

 

“Rey -” he sounds tired.

 

But she doesn’t answer, instead she removes the ice pack, wanting to see how bad his wounds are.

 

“Does it hurt?” she rasps, feeling her heart sink at the increasingly black and blue blemish around his eyes.

 

Ben sighs lowly,  _ it does.  _ His eyes travel across her face, presumably trying to deduce something about her, something about her thoughts, why she is still here. There is no attempt or brush against her mind, but she feels his need to know, his need to understand what all of this is about. 

 

Rey brushes her thumb across the wound in her best attempt at tenderness, desiring nothing more than to soothe what ails him, to make all of it hurt less. He hisses, but doesn’t move or force her to stop.

 

Their eyes lock for a second, and she feels like she’s drowning - the dark brown abyss of his eyes staring at her as if she is a life-giving plant, and he cannot breathe without her. That he needs her more than anything else.

 

Her stomach turns into a cave of reckless wild butterflies, fluttering their wings at what seems like the speed of light.

 

Rey finds the senator to look almost - beautiful. Here in the darkness.

 

She needs to fix this.

 

And the first thought that comes to her mind, is how the mother she saw on the steps had kissed the boy’s knees. To show that she cares.

 

Yes, she needs to fix this.

 

So she leans forward, not by a lot, and presses her lips to the corner of his eye. Right there, at a particularly bad black spot. The skin is hot and soft under her lips.

 

He stiffens. 

 

Rey has never done anything like this. And while the shy kiss was brief, she can’t help but feel nervous for his verdict, fearing what she will find in his gaze. Yet, when they lock eyes again, his eyes wild, he says nothing. Nothing encouraging - but nothing discouraging either. 

 

He isn’t pushing her away.

 

Quite the opposite actually.

 

His eyes flutter shut and his breath stutters, and the untrained eye may see nothing there, but she sees it. How he tilts his head ever so slightly closer to her. An invitation.

 

_ More _ .

 

So Rey timidly tilts her head and presses her lips to his brow, to the soft skin above the eyelid, to the sore bridge on his nose, to the red-black skin below the eye. His cheek, his forehead, his temple.

 

Again, and again, and again.

 

A contented sigh escapes his soft pink mouth. It brushes against her jaw with a gentle caress. Like her kisses can heal, like her affection is a tonic for his ailment, and he looks almost... content. Sitting here on the couch, letting her pour all of her gentle, sweet thoughts and affection into him, absorbing them like a life-restoring treatment.  _ Is it just her, or does it look like the black eye is getting a bit paler? _

 

He seems at least to be in good hands, resting his head on the couch’s back. His neck is long and exposed, revealing every shuddering sigh, every hard swallow.

 

It does nothing good to the feelings she had decided not to chase.

 

To the heat low in her stomach.

 

To the desire to rid him of his clothes and touch his skin.

 

Touch him everywhere.

 

At that thought, Rey pulls back, ever so slightly, while resting a hand on his shoulder.  _ Is she panting? _ And then glances back at him. His eyes are still closed, his mouth slightly parted. He looks perfectly dazed.

 

Like what she is doing has been all he’s ever needed. 

 

She needs to kiss him for that.

 

And she does.

 

Leaning just a bit to the right, her eyes fluttering closed, she presses her lips against his. Their noses bump ever so slightly, but Rey can’t seem to care.

 

Not when his lips are softer and warmer against hers than she could ever possibly imagined. Like nights huddled up in her hammock, protected from a sandstorm.

 

Safe and sound.

 

A timid sound escapes her.

 

But he doesn’t react, doesn’t move. His mouth is  _ still _ and his body stiff beneath her palms.

 

Not reciprocating.

 

_ Kriff _ . 

 

Rey frowns, trying not to let her thoughts spiral, to entertain the toxic idea that she has gotten all of this wrong, knowing full well she has never been the best at reading social cues. Thinking that...he must for sure want this. 

 

He must.

 

She pulls back, confounded, knowing that nothing good will come out of forcing this to happen, to wait aimlessly until he brings his lips to hers.

 

Yet, she can’t help but feel… Disappointed.

 

Bracing herself, she opens her eyes, expecting him to look disappointed too. Horrified about what just happened.

 

Except he doesn’t.

 

He looks far from horrified.

 

He looks dumbstruck.

 

Breathing hard as if he has run a marathon, eyes wild, searching. And when he appears to have found something, something beneath her flushed red face, her sad, furrowing brow and bright brown eyes -

 

His hand grabs her by the neck, pulling her back to him.

 

And he  _ kisses _ her.

 

Hard.

 

And there’s one feeling that takes over Rey’s mind and body. Something unexpected, yet not.

 

A feeling of…

 

_ Finally _ .

 

And oh he kisses her. Brutal and desperate, his other hand grasping her by the waist, pulling her even closer as she tries to keep up. Sobbing a wild ‘yes’ as he parts his mouth to deepen the kiss.

 

Rey is practically delirious.

 

Her heart is bursting, on the verge of shooting out her chest.

 

Does it feel the same for him?

 

He’s certainly frantic, the way his hands move across her body, embracing her back, before tracing up her arms to finally cradle her face. All while planting bruising kisses across her lips, peppering and licking at her jaw as she tries to gain some control over the kiss.

 

A brutal fight of affection,  _ of yes, finally, I feel it too. _

 

But there’s a question, something unsaid, but felt in the way their hands hesitate. In fingers tracing over buttons and belts asking... _ can I? Do you want to? _

 

“Rey,” he shakily breathes as she forces a kiss on his mouth again, needing him there, urgently. And he seems to settle for that for now, letting her take charge and show just how much she has wanted this.

 

Of how much sooner she should have given in.

 

Instead of pretending.

 

Instead of dreaming of his pink pursing lips.

 

Instead of lying alone in her bed at night, when she could be in his arms.

 

But like her, his passion is not a thing to be tempered for long.

 

And then he pushes her down, down into the  gemweb  seat of the couch. Trying his best not to hurt her as his body cages her into the soft fabric. Kissing her deep and desperately.

  
_ Is this what happiness feels like? _ Rey briefly wonders, as they move against each other, hands ghosting across faces, thighs, breasts, and arms, lips moving across soft skin and bruised lips, and pelvises that ...press together. The feelings makes the room ring around them, hot and ecstatic. His hardness rubbing against her and Rey practically crie-

 

The intercom buzzes, “Your highness. Your secretary is here.” Rey stiffens, while Ben quickly rises to his elbows, looking towards the door at the far end of the room, a slightly panicked expression on his face. She follows him, both hesitantly sitting up, as they loosely adjust their clothes, eyes never leaving the door for anyone entering unbidden.

 

When a few moments pass and nothing happens, a gentle smile begins to cross Ben’s lips -

 

And Rey starts to feel dread. 

 

Once satisfied no one is attempting to open the door, Ben turns around to her and gently touches her cheek, pressing his forehead against hers. “Rey” he half gasps, half laughs - sounding like a man who just found God. 

 

“Ben-”

 

“Hmmm,” he hums, kissing her brow.

 

“I...Is this a good idea?” she begins, feeling her stomach tighten at what they just did. And not in a good way. 

 

“A good idea?” he asks, and then slowly pulls away, curious. Waiting for her to explain.

 

“I- I,“ and she truly sees him now, the crest of Alderaan on his chest, of Birren too. Maybe it’s because she’s tired, maybe it’s because she is far away from home, in an alien place full of unwelcoming people, of different customs, but for a myriad of reasons, she feels her eyes welling with tears. And she thinks about Leia, about Han. People who have been so kind to her, who took her in. She thinks about how she is betraying their trust, their confidence, sitting here with their son, kissing him. 

 

She is sure neither would approve. That neither would be overjoyed at the knowledge of Ben being kissed by a scavenger who neglects her duties with the Resistance. And Rey can’t even imagine having Leia frown at her, or show her anger.

 

Rey is such a fool.

 

“What about your mother?” she whispers. 

 

“My mother?” he asks, and for once he sounds genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You are - you are her son. You’re Han’s son. You are a prince and...and…”

 

“Rey.“ Does he sound annoyed? “What are y-?” and then he stops. His hand still rests on her face. 

 

It’s impossible to meet his eyes, her hands are stiff her lap, and honestly Rey is at a complete loss for what to do. Tears threaten to spill. He can’t know, can’t see.

 

“Rey,” his voice bids, and when she doesn’t answer she sees him turn to angle his face, puckering his lips.

 

She immediately snaps her head to left, so that his lips land on her cheek rather than her lips. Her thoughts are still scrambled, her shame is still right under her skin. She may want to kiss him, but she can’t. Not when all of this is unresolved. Not when she can see the judging looks from his parents. From Casterfo -

 

And - he might be with the First Order!

 

She feels his hand fall from her face, and almost in slow motion he moves away. And Rey turns to look at him, hoping for sympathy, understanding, to confirm that it doesn’t matter. That he cares, he wants her, regardless. That she matters.

 

She is important.

 

What she finds instead, turns out to be an unsettled expression, lips tight, jaw tense.

 

_ “I am their son.”  _ The words are almost spat at her. “Of course. Of course. It all makes sense,” he continues, almost talking to himself. And she can see him spiraling, his familiar anger flaring to life around them. 

 

She doesn’t understand. “What?” she tries.

 

“It’s always about them, isn’t it? This,” he points between them, “is just about my parents. Like always.” The couch sinks when he rises abruptly, his face red with frustration.

 

“What? No!” Rey panics. “It’s not like that -”

 

“Of course it is!” He bellows. “It’s always about Leia Organa and Han Solo! About Luke Skywalker - and…”  _ maybe you liked me for me.  _ He doesn’t say the words, but Rey hears them and she half cries, “What. No. Ben.  _ No! _ ” while rising from the couch.

 

But he hurts the same way he kisses - desperate, yearning, and intensely and with a temper more vile than anyone she knows. His eyes are shimmering as he flees the room. 

 

She tries to follow him, but when she reaches the entrance hall, he has already left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**
> 
> Seriously, Selina, are you weaving in [The Resistance TV show](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Star_Wars_Resistance) now? You bet I am! Check out their sick [ CR90 corvette](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/CR90_corvette). Rich boy [ Kaz Xiono](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kazuda_Xiono) is the new recruit and [Senator Xiono ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hamato_Xiono) is his dad. 
> 
> Wanna go to Disney World and get drunk on[Batuu Brew](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Batuu_Brew)?
> 
> A bunch of randomly chosen materials, [chromium ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Chromium), [nihil smokestone ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nihil_smokestone), [Zeyd-cloth ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Zeyd_cloth), [dreamsilk](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Dreamsilk), and [gemweb ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Gemweb). 
> 
> I wonder if the parent who taught Ben [Sabacc ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sabacc) also was the one who taught him how to   
> [curse](https://aminoapps.com/c/star-wars-rp-amino/page/item/insults-and-profanity/X0L3_3o5CXI5ZWKZp3GoN1vWxdexxLW0jJX). 
> 
> Wanna spice up your meals? Add some [roonan lemon ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Roonan_lemon) for flavour. 
> 
> And here’s the first answer google provided when you search ‘ star wars alien BIG ‘: [Herglic](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Herglic).


	16. Chapter 16: Broken Hands part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time on Reset to Default: the author decided to up the game and resolve some of that sexual tension, but Ben got a black eye because he's insufferable and Rey kissed it better. Then they both fucked it up because they don't know how to be in love.
> 
> Thanks for that guys.
> 
> Lets try this again, ONE MORE TIME.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split this into two parts because it was a MILLION words. Next part uploaded tomorrow! - and uh, some STUFF will happen in that one.
> 
> All my love to [ alpha reader Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder) and if it is at ALL readable, it is due to the warming presence of my [ beta reader Blessmycircuits!](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits). They work so hard and I love them. 
> 
> All the UWUS

He left.

 

_He left her._

It’s the only thought that passes through her mind while she manages to shove her way through the large crowd of beautiful aliens and humans. All gathered to watch the spectacle that is the Organa-Solo family, to spread their gossip. All their attention focused on an empty spot where his transport must’ve hovered above the durasteel platform. 

 

Yet there is nothing there. Not even a speck of dust to suggest that any of it had been true.

 

Rey inhales deeply, hopeful still, as she scours the skies, the crowd, because maybe – just maybe –

 

But she finds only disappointment. Not that she expected anything else as she desperately scans for his broad back and sour face. 

 

He’s gone. It is obvious, despite her furiously beating heart trying to convince her otherwise.

 

She’s not even confused about it.

 

No, what she’s confused about is why she still feels his hand warm against her arm, against her stomach. Why are her lips still sensitive from his kisses? Rey imagines how she must appear: hair tousled, out of breath from running down stairs, her mouth pink and swollen. How odd it must all appear to these extremely refined people. Everyone must know what happened.

 

But no one looks at her, no one spares her a shred of their attention. They stand there in their groups of fours and fives with rumors buzzing in the air, too preoccupied with whispering savage words, like chattering song sparrows.

 

Rey pities him. That’s her first instinct, wondering what kind of life you can possibly have growing up among vile creatures like these. How naturally cruelness comes to them. It’s where he must have learned it from. 

 

However, her pity only lasts so long before she feels angry. Angry that he let them influence him, angry that he left so suddenly, that he just…that he just kissed her only to make up his own tales about her motivations. That he pretends that she’s the cruel one!

 

That – that –

 

Rey stops, more like freezes, because there is a pair of eyes watching her. And not just any eyes.

 

At the far end of the platform, distant but unmistakable, stands Carise Sindian, watching Rey with a probing expression. 

 

Rey frowns, unsure of how to interpret the intent behind Carise’s sudden fixation. She gazes at Rey neither cruelly nor knowingly, but something is off, like she’s trying to weave Rey into her complicated plans. Trying to carve out a new place for her on the Dejarik board of intergalactic politics.

 

The scavenger in her wants to lash out, provoked by how blatantly the beautiful lady of Arkanis openly shares her malicious intents. Taunting her in full view of everyone. The confusion and anger she felt over Ben Solo quickly burns away in favor of an all-consuming despair, bitter on her tongue, bitter in her stomach. Because while Rey might often be an unwilling victim of her own fury and rage, she is not dumb. This is not a fight she can win with raw strength, not when the odds are so stacked against her. The guards, the eyes, the consequences. Rey is out of options, and she hates it.

 

Yet, Rey still can’t resist clenching her fists, imagining all the brutish things she could do with them, and _oh_ , what she could really do if she had staff with her. What it would look like to see the senator’s nose split open, broken, bleeding onto the floor. And then she’ll track down Ben and fight him too. Show him how angry he makes her.

 

How sad.

 

How tired.

 

Bone-tired.

 

Rey turns around before she does something stupid. Not without giving Carise a parting grimace, however - a hissing snarl that she knows she sees.  It’s something she would not have done just two months ago, when Han brought her to Birren.

 

But Rey knows worlds now.

 

Knows their rules, their limits, their opportunities.

 

And how little her actions mean to all of it.

 

*

 

 

“No. When you get a Moderation and an Evil One in sabacc, then that’s a bomb out?” Paige grumbles, but there’s a smile on her face. It’s a small one, hidden behind the crinkle of her eye and how the corner of her lip softens just enough. You wouldn’t see it if you didn’t know her well.

 

But Paige is her sister, blood of her blood, the only constant in her life, so Rose knows. 

 

It makes her grin, “So if I used Demise and The Star, then I’d get a -?”

 

“No!” Paige cries, placing another crate on top of the wagon cart. “Are you even listening? I feel like you’re messing with me?”

 

“I am not!”

 

“Are too!”

 

“You should write that on the bombs! I’m sure my bad sabacc opinions will piss of some First Order general,” Rose chuckles, as Paige shakes her head, pulling the wagon cart by the handle down the freighter ramp to the main cargo floor, where eager technician hands wait for their equipment. They flock to the wagon like Aurean vultures to a meal.

 

Rose loves this kind of assignment. They are fairly simple, with no casualties, and people smile. They smile a lot. She especially loves coming to Birren for the rare glimpse of their general, who always stands there to greet them, inspecting their new purchases.

 

However, with the wealth she knows the general must have as Supreme Governor of Birren, Rose was surprised to hear that she spends none of it on the Resistance. She had frowned at that and briefly complained to Paige, who had told her that Leia’s position is precarious, that the local government only turns a blind eye to her activities because it’s not interfering with her official duties.

 

Sometimes Rose wonders how much the Princess of Alderaan has sacrificed in the name of the galaxy. How much Rose herself will have to part with now that she’s decided to dedicate her life to the cause. 

 

She watches her sister crack jokes with the radar technicians and feels grateful that she has her, unsure of what she would even do without Paige’s strength. What kind of person is Rose without her sister? Her Haysian smelt necklace is warm against her skin. It’s probably warm against Paige’s too.

 

Then Rose notices something, a new guy with brown skin and black hair arguing with someone on the left. She turns to Karim next to her.

 

“Who is that?”

 

Karim blinks and extends his neck, “Oh. That’s the stormtrooper that defected a few months ago - you’ve heard about him right?”

 

Of course Rose has heard about him! It was the talk of the whole base. No stormtrooper had ever defected before, or at least not that they knew of, and now he’s a part of the Resistance! Poe had briefly stopped by and the tale of their grand escape from Takodana was still fresh in her mind. There’s a shyness in her belly and she sees Paige notice, a wicked grin on her lips, as if she knows all of Rose’s thoughts.

 

Because she probably does.

 

“You should go talk to him, Rose,” _that cheekiness of hers,_ “he looks like he might need your help.” Paige gestures towards what appears to be the stormtrooper trying to explain something about the comm device in his hand. 

 

He probably doesn’t need her help, but Rose doesn’t think she could stand Paige teasing her about being too scared to talk to boys, and with a swift nod of her head she marches over to him.

 

There’s clearly an argument happening, the stormtrooper is hissing and spitting, quite rudely so, but Rose wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, his position is sensitive and dangerous, and he’s probably wanted by a million bounty hunters, not to mention the entire First Order. 

 

She steps up to them and with a somewhat hesitant smile says, “Hi.” 

 

Both jump in surprise, but it’s only the technician who exclaims with happiness, “Rose!”

 

She waves her hand, smiling, “What are we doing over here?”

 

“Oh. Well. Finn here is trying to make me do him a favour.” The stormtrooper - or Finn - frowns and crosses his arms, seeming somewhat embarrassed or...shy? “He sat on it,” the technician’s grin widens, and he shakes the comm device. “And now he wants me to fix it.”

 

Rose mouths a soft “oh”, curious as to how he could possibly break it just from sitting, but she reaches for it and asks, “Can I see?”

 

“Sure. I’m not even sure I can fix it. Not familiar with this tech.” Finn is annoyed and begins to argue with the technician, and Rose find it somewhat strange how desperate he appears to be. Perhaps this device does something important? Maybe it’ll help the Resistance.

 

There’s definitely bags under his eyes and blemishes on his skin. Is he sleeping well? Whatever he’s working on it must be big. Exciting!

 

Rose feels Paige’s burning eyes on the back of her neck, daring her to say something, to do something. But Rose is not sure she can. Her mouth is firmly shut, sewn tight. The comm device is old, probably older than her, but it’s familiar.

 

“I think I can fix this,” she announces, watching Finn and the technician halt their discussion. “It’s from Hays Minor, I grew up there. I’m not leaving before tomorrow, I can have a look?”

 

Finn stares at her and he seems like a man who has no reason to trust anyone. Like being trusting had ruined him before. Yet there’s a desperation there too, like something needs to be done. And so he groans a little, before relenting, “Fine.”

 

Rose smiles, feeling good about this, but she won’t know yet, will she?

 

But as Paige says, you have to try.

 

 

*

 

 

“He’s not here.”

 

Rey blinks, clutching the crudely wrapped parcel tighter in her hands. But the secretary doesn’t notice, she’s so busy flipping through the pages on the holoprojector in front of her. Her face is new, _did Ben fire Mitaka?_

 

“Where is he?” Rey tries, shifting slightly on her feet. Not used to...begging. 

 

“Don’t know. Not planet-bound. I'm just subbing.” The secretary’s voice is uncaring at best as she reads through a page on the screen.

 

Rey curses under her breath. It hadn’t been her best laid out plan, showing up at Senator Solo’s office, hoping he’d be there, hoping he’d…see her. Especially considering the haste he had so eagerly left her with last night, jumping out the door and into his transport. 

 

However, her sleep and thoughts had been restless enough since yesterday that she knows she has to confront him, or at least get some resolution to it all. Even if it isn’t going to be the resolution she might…secretly hope for.

 

So when she had grabbed some random items from Casterfo’s office at the break of dawn and wrapped them in synth parcel paper, preparing an elaborate excuse to see him, it had been with two outcomes in mind. A fight…or…another kind of _fight_.

 

Her lips prickle with the memory.

 

But apparently he hadn’t shared her same desire for sorting out what happened between them, because here she is, with a dumb scheme, a dumb package, a dumb mind, a dumb heart, and he has just…left.

 

Not just left his office.

 

Left the kriffing planet.

 

Almost as if he’s avoiding her.

 

Coward. 

 

She draws a breath. “When will he be back?“ She shakes the parcel, “It’s urgent.”

 

“I can take it off your hands and give it to him when he’s back?” the secretary says without sparing her a look, extending her hand palm up for Rey to place the parcel in.  

 

Rey pouts, “Can’t you just tell me when he’ll be back? Or maybe his… _home address?_ ”

 

“Don’t know. It’s classified.” This time the secretary looks at her, her amber eyes shining and pink hair curling nice and proper, framing her face. She gives Rey a beautiful, deliberate smile. It annoys Rey how pretty she looks, how effortless it appears.

 

“No. It’s fine. I’ll find another solution,” Rey surrenders, the scavenger in her growling. She then turns on her heel to walk back down the wide, shining, Mandalorian iron halls of the Senate building.

 

It’s a busy day, and even in the early hours, the halls are overflowing with senators in the traditional outfits of their respective planets, secretaries and assistants close at hand, chattering, discussing. Droids mingle at their feet, cleaning the floors to the best of their ability. Trying to keep up the shine, the pretense of order in this chaos.

 

Rey doesn’t want to mope, she isn’t the type that mopes or hunches her back and sighs defeatedly. Either she fights the beast at hand and conquers it, or she lets it go and moves on with her life. Crawls back into the machines, the starships and strips them of their scrap, returning to the tedium that is her life.

 

But this time she can’t. There’s something different. Last night still twists and turns in her mind and takes up space, _valuable space_ . Because the fact is, he didn’t simply leave the party, he left the planet. She’s sure it could be a mere coincidence, that he was always _supposed_ to leave. But something inside her keeps championing the idea that he is _avoiding_ her. Maybe even on _purpose_. Because why else would have kissed her senseless on a couch, moaning and sighing, forcing her soul open and then just…run, disappeared. As if he wanted to smother her heart all along.

 

Was it revenge?

 

Rey groans, ignoring the hurt. Because she doesn’t like to admit it, having ignored Ben for so long, always aware of who he is and what he possibly is, but now that she has spent an _entire night_ struggling with the heat between her legs and the ache in her chest...

 

...That he matters to her.

 

And it gnaws on her. Right to the bone. That he appears to be no different from Carise or any of the other privileged members of the galaxy. Rey was a toy, a fun thing to pass some time with. Maybe it had been intentional too. Maybe he had noticed her changing perception of him and used it to distract her, to divert her attention away from her mission, from the First Order.

 

He knows what she has been assigned to do, after all.

 

She swallows the sullenness and tries to straighten her back. But she’s a mess. Everything’s a mess. Her thoughts are scrambled, interlaced with memories of how warm his hands were, the way he held her like it all mattered, like it was the _only thing_ that mattered. And then his snarling face as he ran, pushing her hands away.

 

Rey lightly kicks an oncoming cleaning droid, it beeps and whirrs, but continues on. Probably used to a lot worse. _Me too buddy, me too._

 

She frowns, feeling pathetic and young. 

 

It’s a feeling she never manages to shake, and it follows her like a predator even when she enters the office, where she finds Casterfo dressed impeccably in blue, practicing his speech for the Senate floor. It follows her as she is dragged to the Senate chamber and ordered to take notes on the discussions, while Kelko and Casterfo take care of his input channels, entering the cues for speaking, and discussing strategies.

 

And she tries, Rey really does, to focus and not let her mind slip. And she manages to, for a while, even on no more than three hours of sleep, but then she notices –

 

Carise is not present for the debate.

 

She’s not sure at first, because the senator’s repulsor pod is quite a distance from Casterfo’s, but it’s undeniable that there’s only one person present in it, and Carise never attends alone. 

 

Rey slides a bit closer to the railing and peers down.

 

Yes, there’s no room for doubt, not with how bland the person’s clothes appear, something the lady of Arkanis would never dare to show up in. It must be Carise’s assistant occupying the seat, voting by proxy. A small droid sits next to him, documenting the discussion by hololink.

 

Carise is absent.

 

And so is Ben.

 

An avalanche of stinging grains of sand crash into her chest with the force of X'us'R'iia on a smoldering day in the Goazon Badlands. Because their shared absence is probably not _accidental_ . She wants to growl, to weep, because this means not only did leave Rey - no - he must have taken off immediately with that _wicked_ senator. They are probably sitting side by side on his ship going off to… _Force knows where._  

 

They are probably having dinner with that pasty looking Hux, just for good measure!

 

It was a mistake, Rey concurs, as the prickling sensation moves up from her chest to her throat, up her cheeks to her eyes. She blinks rapidly as she looks up from the assistant, willing it to go away, to let it simmer rather than boil over. Because she can’t let it get to her. She won’t let him. It was a mistake to kiss him. She probably did it badly, pushed him further into the grasp of the First Order, because of course she would be a bad kisser. She’s a sand rat from Jakku. A nobody. How would she know to be gentle and caring and good at stuff like that?

 

And while she steadily wills her breath to calm, the grains begin to smooth out in her chest, slowly hardening into something new, something resourceful. A tenacity emerges from the storm inside her.

 

She has been distracted long enough. He may think her a fool, a girl easily toyed with. But he doesn’t know her like Jakku has known her. 

 

Oh, how he has misjudged her.

 

And while Casterfo scoffs at her not to dawdle, and her hand returns to typing–

 

An idea begins to form in her mind.

  


*

 

 

But while it is clear to her that something must be done, it takes a while for Rey’s idea to fully take shape, to become something more than just a bunch of fragmented conclusions and hunches. For her gut feeling to become concrete action. 

 

But it all comes back to and begins with Carise. After days spent in the Senate with no sight of the woman from Arkanis, Ben (and _now Ro-Kiintor)_ , and Sindian’s assistant remaining the only occupant in the repulsor pod, Rey begins to entertain the thought that there might be more to Carise’s secretary than meets the eye.

 

It’s just a thought, there’s no proof, but Carise doesn’t seem like a person who trusts anyone but herself. Especially not with important matters like politics, _and especially not for several days._

 

The secretary is soft-looking with a silent nature, never doing anything but what is required of him: vote and type, and sometimes he talks into a comm device attached to his shoulder. There’s nothing immediately suspicious about him. 

 

But he is. Very much so. Yet Rey’s suspicions remain nothing but suspicions...

 

...Until one fateful afternoon. Five days after the disastrous night at the Vadron estate, the Primeday before a three-day intergalactic holiday celebrating the signing of the Galactic Concordance. 

 

It had seemed like any ordinary day, with Rey doing errands for Casterfo with Kelko at the the more affluent part of the downtown market square stocking up on supplies for the office.

 

It’s Rey’s third time here, and even in her current bleak state and with her increasing list of grievances, she always finds herself in awe of it. She admires the many trinkets on offer, picking up a piece of new tech to inspect the shiny pristine durasteel coating. The market buzzes around her. The banter, the yelling, the laughter. It reminds her of when ships would arrive at Niima Outpost and the junk bosses would gather around and showcase their repurposed tech. How they’d yell and jostle each other – and if Unkar had successfully bartered, there might even be the occasional extra portion in it for his team of scavengers. 

 

One time a young man had given Rey a horned melon for helping him carry his new purchases on board his ship. It had been almost sickeningly fragrant. But she devoured it, like a luggabeast gone for days without water.

 

The market reminds her of those moments. The rare gestures of kindness Jakku could offer its people. 

 

The market feels like that, and she’s almost in a good mood, finding herself smiling at Kelko...

 

But something changes. She feels it, silently nudging at her neck, the prickling sensation, asking her to turn around.

 

Kelko is still talking to the vendor as Rey slowly glances over her shoulder, at first unaware of what is trying to catch her attention, but then the red coat of Carise’s assistant flutters between a group of Twi’leks. 

 

Rey freezes, stretching her neck just a little, her eyes tracking his slow-moving form towards an alley she knows leads to _Lowtown_ . Her brow furrows. _Why would he want to go there? Where pirates, mercenaries, and all things_ _nefarious_ _go? Most certainly not for Nerf tenderloin._

 

With nothing but instinct and a half-laid-out plan, Rey excuses herself, promising to meet up with Kelko later, apologizing by saying she wants to go buy some of the other things they need so they’ll finish up quicker. She doesn’t even wait for Kelko to give her permission before sliding through the crowd, pulling up the hood of her raincoat, hiding her face as she moves down the side street, walking through back alleys and dark passageways, further and further below the city center, where things are no longer inviting, but rough and worn down. Where you only go for things you do not want to be seen with. Where the sun never shines.

 

She follows the prickle, letting it guide her, and after a few daunting moments in the dark, she quickly catches up with the blue-skinned secretary. He takes a few light steps down a flight of stairs, and she slows in response, aware of the many eyes watching her as she slides through Lowtown. However, she knows how to behave in such places, and soon their attention becomes more curious, rather than hostile, and Rey clutches her raincoat tighter against her body, hiding her official Republic uniform from their prying gazes.

 

She knows them after all, having grown up around people of their nature. Walk tall, but keep your head down.

 

Suddenly, the secretary darts into a cantina with a faded green door and the signage crackling above its door frame. 

 

She follows.

 

A cantina is a cantina, Rey pleasantly discovers. No different than any other hideout. It’s small, smoky, and smelling of incense and stale beer. It’s early in the day, meaning the patrons are sparse, but manageable. A wrinkled Hutt stands behind the bar, wiping the countertops with a dirty cloth. Rey follows the secretary, but not before waiting a beat or two at the door, and then walks to a high stool at the bar, the closest to the booth the secretary slips into, without seeming suspicious.

 

A man in a dark hood sits down in the booth across from the secretary, his long painted nails clip against the cup before him. Rey orders some kind of beer with an unpronounceable name in an attempt to fit in, trying not to grimace as she sips from it. The Hutt gives her an odd expression, but doesn’t say anything, and instead turns to serve an ill-looking Chag.

 

Behind her she hears them talking in low voices and with careful words. Rey frowns, struggling to make out the words over the music.

 

“...She has found vital information. Crucial even,“ a Chiss coughs next to her, and Rey scoots slightly to the left, “but we are nothing without evidence. Then it’s just words against words. Some could even claim it was fabricated.” The hooded figure says nothing, circling his finger around the rim of his cup, but the secretary continues. “You’ll be paid half now, and once you’ve finished the job, you’ll get the second half.”

 

Rey carefully turns her head to watch them as they discuss the terms of the masked man’s employment. The secretary writes down numbers, the other nods or shakes his head. Then from within his red official outfit, the secretary withdraws a data chip and slides it across the table.

 

“Rumour has it that somewhere in the Outer Rim, an old Grand Admiral of the Empire has what we are looking for.” The secretary taps the black and gold data chip, “He will know who Darth Vader was. Truly was.”

 

 _Darth Vader?_ Rey frowns, _why would they need to know more about the old enforcer of the emperor? A man who has been dead for more than thirty years._ The hooded figure nods, taking it and placing it inside his black jacket.

 

As the secretary rises, adjusting his suit, he quickly says, “Be careful, but quick about it. We’ll stall the senate for as long as possible, but our power is not infinite – and the Supreme Leader is growing impatient.”

 

“Agreed.” The figure speaks in a foreign accent, standing from the table as well.

 

There are a few things which have to be taken into consideration before deciding on her next course of action.

 

She considers running back to Casterfo’s office and recounting her tale to him. It’s her first instinct, to make allies, to use her existing allies. But she hesitates. The scar from their Ro-Kiintor fiasco still fresh on her mind. And while Casterfo may agree, might even find what she has to say relevant and groundbreaking, there’s still a possibility that he’ll disapprove of her methods. That he’ll yell at her again for endangering herself and their entire mission. That she’s reckless, inconsiderate of their lives and their goals.

 

Rey breathes, and then contemplates telling Finn. Maybe he’d be able to help, to get the information directly to Leia, to warn her.

 

But…he hasn’t answered her calls lately, for a long time even (and she ignores the hurt in her stomach every time), and Leia dismissed her fears about Ben the last time she went to her. Who is to say she’ll even trust Rey on this?

 

Her palm tightens around her cup before she raises it to her lips, downing it in one go. Allowing the alcohol to numb her senses, her fears.

 

Because Rey can’t leave here without hard proof. If she wants to know what they need and why, she’ll have to get that datacard.

 

And it’ll probably end with a fight.

 

The hooded figure and the secretary leave separately, the former through a back door at the far end of the cantina. Rey throws a few credits on the table and tries to follow, as silently as possible. The door goes through a hallway with a series of rooms; Rey doesn’t want to even entertain the idea of what they are for. Then through a storage area and finally into a damp, dark back alley, permanently shielded from the light of the sun.

 

Conveniently, an electrostaff rests at the side of the wall, which Rey picks up and grasps tightly in her hands, thumb resting over the ignition, as she begins to hunt down the mysterious hooded figure. The prickle is still there, but it’s wary, telling her to be cautious, guiding her ahead.

 

She crawls up and over crates, through empty buildings and half-flooded streets, trusting the prickle to take her where she needs to go. She has to.

 

And then it stops, buzzing heavily in her back, like a muffled scream.

 

_Be careful!_

 

A flash of red _ignites_ above her, and the crackling sound of a vibro-voulge is unmistakable.

 

Rey spins around and presses the ignition, lighting the electrostaff, but to little avail as the figure drops, his bladed staff ready.

 

“Ah!” she shrieks, and stumbles back, the blade crashing into the ground mere inches from her feet. Rey feels herself shaking, and presses her back up the wall, staff poised for attack.

 

The hooded figure rises from the ground, revealing a harsh, scarred face, teeth bared in a grin, as he twirls his blade back into attack mode with a practiced hand. Rey feels herself panting, knowing she could easily run, get back, be safe.

 

But she won’t be safe, will she? She never will be.

 

“Give me the data chip.” Rey growls, securing her hands around the staff, readying her feet.

 

The figure snorts, less than impressed, and strikes. She dodges, adrenaline rushing through her blood, watching the blade strike where she had stood over and over again. The prickle pushing her, no, no - more like…it’s like she knows where the blade will hit, knows it before the hooded figure even does. Where to block it with the plasma beam, where to dodge…

 

The beams lock. And her muscles ache against the force of him. 

 

But Rey is strong, strong enough that she manages to hold her own in a fight, but it is not an easy feat. Not with how he easily pushes her around, throwing her with a hard hit from his blade into a narrow road, charging even harder and faster than before, making her gasp and wheeze for breath, because while Rey is a good fighter, she’s clearly not as skilled as he is. She can still stand her ground, but it seems more and more unlikely that she’ll –

 

“Fuck!” she yelps, holding the fresh cut on her arm as she hisses, jumping away from his blade, but only for it to come striking –

 

She raises her hand, out of intuition perhaps, or maybe desperation and –

 

 _Pushes_!

 

The hooded figure slams into the wall with force! It cracks the duracrete where his back connects and he falls to the ground with a violent gasp. Rey freezes, watching how her hands tremble as she tries to make sense of what just - did she?

 

“A Force-sensitive,“ he rasps, rubbing the blood away from his mouth. “Rare. But you’re strong.”

 

Rey shakes her head, “No.” She grasps the staff once more. The tremors are clear in her voice.

 

He seems not to care, and while he stands up, he considers her. “You feel strange. An odd thing in the Force,” and with no warning he opens his palm and the blade flies back into his grasp. Rey jumps, surprised and suddenly so fearful. _He’s a Force user_ . But he doesn’t appear to notice her distress. “There are so _few_ of us left.”

 

Distressed, perhaps even desperate, Rey reaches out for his cape in an attempt to physically rip the data card out of his pocket, but he stops her with his fists (their weapons are useless in such close proximity). His free hand grasps her by the raincoat and flings her off of him – opening her coat for him to see, in all its glory - _the official sigil of the Senate._

 

He frowns at the sight and then growls,“You think this will be easy? Don’t you?” He prowls towards her. “A spy like you, against the whole First Order?”

 

Rey flings the electrostaff aimlessly at him, as she stumbles backwards into the open market street, crashing into a stall full of recycled droid scraps. She thinks she might hear screaming, but her ears ring too much to be sure. 

 

It hardly matters, not when he brings his blade down on her form again and again with no hesitation! Which she only _just_ avoids by rolling to her side, the electrostaff slipping from her grip in the ruckus.  She tries to get it back, but he keeps attacking, and she keeps scrambling to escape him. Her back scratches along the ground.

 

And then she sees it, a blaster a few meters away. She’ll make it.

 

She reaches with her hand-

 

Only for his boot to slam on her wrist.

 

_It pops._

 

“AH!” Rey screams, frantically grabbing his ankle to get it off, but he won’t budge and he just presses down harder. The blade shimmers red above her, ready to strike, to finish her.

 

He’s triumphant. A cruel, wicked smile on his lips.

 

_Take it back._

Rey blinks, not understanding what the prickle wants, not knowing what it means, _yet she does._

 

She always has.

 

And on pure instinct, she flings her free hand towards the discarded electrostaff and _wills_ it to come to her, fingers stretching into thin air, grasping, yearning –

 

_Help me._

 

The hooded figure yelps, stumbling backwards, freeing her wrist, as the ignited staff cuts into his leg and slams into Rey’s waiting hand, blood splattering on her face. 

 

“Stop this at once!” a distorted voice yells from behind her, and the sound of heavy boots running makes them both halt. The blue and yellow clothing of the security forces glints through the masses watching them fight to the death.

 

The male figure hisses and gives Rey one appraising gaze before he disappears down an alley.

 

It takes her a moment to catch up, and while Rey is affiliated with the government, she is aware that getting caught by the security forces is the last thing she wants to happen right now. And with an aching wrist and a sore foot, she limps through the crowds, fleeing into the streets. With a shoulder she shoves open the door leading into the sewer and hides behind its bars.

 

The boots of the soldiers run by unnoticing.

 

But Rey doesn’t feel safe. 

 

 

*

 

 

It’s dark when Rey finally manages to get back to Casterfo’s building. And she guesses she must have spent a good four hours limping out of Lowtown to the market place and finally to the Senate quarters.

 

She could have gotten there faster, she’s sure of it, but Rey couldn’t risk being stopped by security forces. Not with Casterfo’s sigil on her chest and a stranger’s blood on her face. She doesn’t have time for questions. And who knows who she can _trust_?

 

No. No. She’ll have to endure, tucking her broken wrist inside her tunic, carefully limping through alleys and shadows, her hood drawn over her face. Staying as small and insignificant as possible, except when she finds an empty public bathroom, where she scrubs off the worst of the dried splatter on her face. Her cheek looks slightly bruised in the fractured mirror. She’ll shower when she gets back, don a new outfit, and find something to bind her wrist with, just until she can find someone discreet to fix it.

 

She’ll endure.

 

As she always does.

 

But she can’t say she doesn’t release a small sob the moment she steps into the staff elevator, punching in the clearance code that’ll take her up to the 40th floor. Head resting against the cold steel walls, willing the pain away. There are a lot of thoughts in her head, all spiraling and clashing, and Rey is so tired. So very tired. But she knows those thoughts are futile if she doesn’t somehow manage to fix herself first.

 

Those were the rules of Jakku. Fix yourself before making sense of what happened, crying is wasteful if your leg is broken. You’ll starve to death if you are unable to walk - Rey has seen it happen, and even buried a few.

 

She squares her shoulders and when she steps out of the elevator she’s already half celebrating that she’ll be able to lie down on her bed and rest, to get out of these damp, sweat-drenched clothes.

 

Except –

 

The door to her room is open. Her bed is overturned, her drawers pulled off their hinges, clothes thrown wildly across the floor. And while Rey knows she had left her room a mess this morning, it definitely did not look like that.

 

Someone has been here. Someone broke into her room.

 

And Rey is pretty sure who it is.

 

A door opens at the end of the hallway, and, running on pure and adrenaline clutching her hurting wrist, Rey runs into her room, whooshing the door shut, locking it tight with a shove of her shoulder. She presses herself against the steel, cold against her ear as she listens.

 

Her breath shakes, but Rey has never felt more alert or more aware, with her staff resting neatly beside her. She’ll have to fight with her non-dominant hand, but it’ll be more than enough.

 

She hears the sound of something coming closer, biting her lips tight and reaching behind herself to feel the cold, rusty neck of the staff.

 

Ready.

 

The noise is getting closer. Her shoulder is ready to punch in the opening sequence and-

 

The whirr of a droid is unmistakable, she hears it, but it passes her room without any hesitation and goes towards Casterfo’s apartment.

 

Rey exhales, huffing short breaths against the bright red door before allowing herself to slump against it.

 

As far as she can tell, nothing has been taken. Not that there’s a lot to take. The comm device is haphazardly thrown towards the window, and Han’s blaster is lying on top of the bed frame. Her heart still beats fast, but her mind is not too clouded by adrenaline for her to see that this was not about finding _something_ , as much as it probably was to serve as a _reminder_. 

 

That they know who she is.

 

People on Jakku did the same, killing a happabore and placing it in an enemy’s house. It was a warning more than an actual threat. She knows this game. 

 

A voice in the back of her head whispers to her she needs to tell Casterfo, that she’s endangering him as much as herself – and another hisses that she can’t. He’ll send her back, shout at her, yell at her.

 

And she’s so close to… _something_.

 

Giving herself a few moments to calm down, Rey hisses as she removes her wrist from her tunic, rotating it to examine with her other hand, watching as the skin turns purple and black and begins to swell. She grabs a discarded glove near her feet and pulls it slowly over her hand before, to the best of her ability, she begins to rip apart the cover on her bed, wrapping it tightly around the wrist. It’s her instincts from Jakku more than anything. The fear and tears are there, but buried below exhaustion, anger, and dopamine. The wrapping is crude, not good, far from it, but it’ll do for now. Just to keep her hand from moving unnecessarily and causing more agony.

 

After a solid fifteen minutes gathering her strength, breathing in and out, she stands on wobbly feet and climbs into the ‘fresher, scrambles through the medicine cabinet and grabs the orange colored painkillers, swallowing them down with a few gulps of water from the faucet –

 

And stops.

 

Above her, pinned to the mirror, hangs a tiny scribbled note.

 

She coughs, half choking on the water as she rises in shock, half jumping away from the basin.

 

The words are hastily written, and it takes her a second to interpret them.

 

A cold chill runs down her back.

 

_It’s the address of Ben’s apartment. And the hour of his return._

Besides the obvious mind-numbing shock of it being there at all, this makes Rey immediately sure of two things.

 

One is that the First Order (or its sympathisers) are clearly, for some reason, insisting on keeping tabs on her. Thinking that she’s worthy enough to intimidate, threaten, or even _kill_. 

 

The second one is that it’s a _trap_. They know she was looking for Ben a week ago, that she came and half begged to see him, and she had been turned down.

 

What Rey isn’t sure of though, is why the sudden change of heart? Why would they give her his address? She reads it carefully, and his home is located in without a doubt one of the fancier buildings on Hosnian Prime, so it could possibly be true. The memory of Carise’s cunning face comes to mind, the way she had regarded Rey with scrutiny, weaving her into their plans. But she doesn’t understand what for, and why? Their assassin from earlier clearly had no qualms about attempting to kill her.

 

Maybe this is their second attempt?

 

Do they think she’s stupid?

 

Rey shakes her head at the ridiculousness of it all. It’s an obvious trap.

 

She pulls the paper off the mirror and shoves it into her pocket, flexing her _working_ hand against her pants, trying to sort through the feelings of hope, anger, and fear she finds within her chest. Because if they’d wanted to kill her, they could have easily done so by waiting in her room and slicing her throat.

 

But they’ve chosen not to.

 

And perhaps it is a mild concussion, the untreated wound, or the fact that she’s tired and frustrated with adrenaline still speeding through her system, making her feel invincible, strong, her desire to teach them a lesson at the forefront of her mind –

 

But Rey decides to go.

  


*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**
> 
> Did I learn the rules of [Sabacc ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sabacc) or did I just randomly throw in words from Wookieepedia. You decide.
> 
> Bird, more birds, birds everywhere: [Auren vultures](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Aurean_vulture), [song sparrows](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Song_sparrow). And animals, mostly ugly ones: [luggabeasts](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Luggabeast), [happabores](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Happabore). And last but not least, some random materials and foods: [horned melon](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Fruit), [mandalorian iron](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mandalorian_iron), [synth paper](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Synth-paper)
> 
> 20 % off on holidays to [Takodana ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Takodana) and Hay’s Minor, use code AREUAKYLUX. 
> 
> Is it trauma or just Rey’s childhood? Or both? Who knows, let’s revisit: [X'us'R'iia](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/X%27us%27R%27iia) and [Goazon Badlands](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Goazon_Badlands).
> 
> It was the night before [Primeday](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Galactic_Standard_Calendar)!
> 
> I wonder which little baby was born on the day they signed the  
> [Galatic Concordance](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Galactic_Concordance)? Happy 30th B-day Ben Solo!


	17. Chapter 16: Broken Hands part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday, On Reset to Default: Rey went cray and found out that Carise is looking into who Darth Vader truly was! That involved some light fighting, some broken bones and a break in to her room. And a mysterious note with Ben's adress.
> 
> So...Eggplant emoji?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my love to [ alpha reader Slipgoingunder](https://twitter.com/slipgoingunder) and if it is at ALL readable, it is due to the warming presence of my [ beta reader Blessmycircuits!](https://twitter.com/blessmycircuits). They work so hard and I love them. 
> 
> All the UWUS

It’s hard to navigate a speeder with only one functioning hand, but Rey has done worse, been through worse. And while it takes her a  _ while _ , she eventually reaches the tall white skyscraper, surprisingly quite some distance away from the Senate area and closer to the Vadron estate than any of the other senators.

 

This area caters more to the affluent and important, royalty and the elite.

She is not surprised that this is the place he chooses to call home.

The building is covered in glass, but gives away none of the interior through cloudy, smokey window panes that are probably see-through from the inside. Rey circles the building a few times, looking for the platform number written on the note, avoiding detection from the guards planted at the main entrances – and gathering courage.

Anger is a funny thing, potent but short-lived, and the longer she circles, the more it fades, allowing the pain from her broken wrist to break through to the surface, reminding her just how close she was to getting it all wrong today. To dying. And someone has been watching her, they know her goals, and now they are permitting her to pursue them – to find Ben and get resolution…

If Ben is even waiting on the other side of the door.

Drawing a deep breath, she speeds to a small platform obviously meant for deliveries and servants. Her staff is strapped to her back. 

 

She taps the blaster fastened to her leg, and with a furiously beating heart and shaking hands, acting more on stubbornness than anything else, she presses the clearance code-

And enters.

She’s met with a dark, barely lit hallway, devoid of any life, but she knows she can’t turn on the light, so with the good hand (still ready to grab the blaster at a moment’s notice), she feels her way to a large blaster door, fumbles with the keypad, and enters the apartment. 

 

A huge one. 

 

The apartment is quiet, too quiet, the kitchen and living room are cast in deep darkness, except for the headlights of the speeders and freighters that pass by in lanes outside the windows. 

 

There’s not a lot to conclude about the person living there. The furniture is simple, the surfaces meticulously clean. No plants or decorations. A black couch, a coffee table, and a holocaster. The long dining table appears unused, its shiny coating still shimmering like new. The entire wall facing the city is one large pane of revealing glass. 

 

Who could ever be able to be comfortable here?

 

She releases the safety on the blaster and peeks into the kitchen, which seems equally free of signs of life. 

It's too quiet for her liking, and she tries to feel, to invite the prickle back to help, but it is silent. Passive. She’s on her own.

With a hasty breath, she licks her lips and walks – limps – further into the empty apartment, towards the hallway leading away from the living room. A faint yellow light shines on the carpet from a room on the other side of the glass panels, but she hears no sound. With careful feet, she treads slowly past the couch, into a glass corridor that overlooks the city.

Had she not had the day she’d had, Rey would’ve stopped to enjoy the view, but as the light grows brighter, she begins to hear what sounds like deep, sobbing breaths. 

 

She swallows and looks around the corner.

The door to the room is wide open, spilling a pleasant yellow light onto the maroon carpet. The sounds slowly stops, but no one calls for her. Her hand tightens on the blaster and with the lightest steps she peeks into the room, expecting an ambush, some trickery, a reason for her finger to rest alertly on the trigger -

Only to find Ben.

 

Just him, alone. 

She freezes.

His back is facing her, but his shoulders are slumped and defeated. The fancy looking bed is made, untouched, and surrounded by unopened luggage. She watches him dressed only in a sleeveless black undershirt. Coats and capes lie on the floor in a path from the door to the bed, as if thrown off in blaze of haste and frustration. 

 

His shoulders are shaking, but he’s soundless. Is he unaware of her presence?

If it weren’t for how her wrist is aching, how her foot is limping, how her heart is hurting, Rey might have found him pitiable. She might even have found it in her to be concerned.

But she doesn’t, because all of this reminds her of what had come to pass only five days ago, hell, what had passed a few hours ago too. The note burns against her thigh.

And waiting here in the doorway won’t give her any answers.

 

Even if she feels a bit scared.

She raises the blaster, just in case, the staff remaining tight around her shoulders, and crosses the threshold, into the light, pointing the blaster at his back.

“ _ Ben _ .” 

He turns, or rather jumps at the mention of his name.

 

She sees his eyes widen the moment he recognizes her, their redness becoming more evident, and while the bruise around his eye may have faded, it is still there.

 

The sight of him tugs at her chest, as if begging her remaining compassion to show him mercy.

But it's too late.

“Rey?” His eyes narrow, finally noticing the blaster gripped tight in her hands. He sighs, “I don’t want to do this right now.”

But that’s not for him to decide. Like the way he has decided everything since she met him. Lectured her, dictated to her.

She tries to hide her limp as she moves closer, but he notices that too and frowns.

“I have questions,” Rey snarls, teeth bared, ignoring how he looks to have been crying, difficult though it is, “because I have had a very interesting day. First, one of your ‘friends’ was very  _ ‘kind’ _ to me on the street.” He looks confused at that, maybe a bit appalled and about to open his mouth, but she continues, “and then! I get home and find that someone has broken into my room! Which is one thing,“ she walks so she’s standing right in front of him, his eyes watery brown and shimmering as he holds her gaze, “but they left me a note. A note with  _ your _ address.”

There’s a sob in her throat, ready to burst forth, because he’s not looking at her with hate or disdain. There’s something else there, but she swallows it down, tightening her jaw.

She presses the barrel of blaster into his shoulder. “Tell me. Why are they are going through all that trouble, just so I would come  _ here, _ “ and in a whisper, gesturing around the room, “where are they hiding?”

“No one’s here Rey.”

“Why should I come here then? Why are they telling me to come  _ here _ ?” He frowns at her questions, his lips moving in thought, but doesn’t respond. “I asked them several times where you are, and every time they told me no! But now they do.  _ Why _ ?” She’s shaking.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t  _ know _ ?” she exhales in disbelief.

He doesn’t reply, not right away, instead he just watches her. His eyes trail over the blaster in her left hand,  _ her non-dominant hand _ , then to the sweat on her face, to the blood dried on her cheeks, to the burn on her bicep, to the bindings on her other arm. 

 

He inhales deeply.

“You were looking for me?”

This, this – man! “Of course! You just – left me there!” He flinches, hands flexing in his lap, but doesn’t move. 

 

It angers her! How he just sits there like its nothing important, and the words just ...spill out of her. “Which was really nice, by the way! And then you run off to somewhere, and you clearly told your secretary not to tell me! And now someone gives me a note – and, and!” She takes a step back, trying to gain control over her breathing and drawing the blaster to her side. 

 

He does nothing,  _ says _ nothing! Neither reaching for her nor pushing her away. But his face is changing, the frown is slowly transforming into  _ something _ –

Rey exhales, throwing her arms into the air, annoyed – no – pissed! “You know what. I’m not in the mood for this. Tell me or I’ll find someone who will!” 

 

She takes a few steps further back, her body trembling, and shakes her head, feeling pathetic and stupid. Like an ignorant child learning the ways of the world. 

 

Maybe she was right!? Maybe he does enjoy toying with her? Perhaps they all sit around the table laughing at how he vexes her so, making jokes at her expense. The rich prince taunting a lowly scavenger, and she can’t possibly-!

“Funny,” he suddenly says, “how your mind changes.”

 

_ What?  _

 

“ _ My _ mind?” she exclaims.

“You thrive on it, don’t you? That I  _ want _ you? And the moment I see through you, see what your true intentions are, then you come running.“ His voice is calm, collected.

“And what do you think you see?” Rey half-shouts, infuriated. How could he possibly think that?! 

He frowns and spits. “You kissed me, because  _ you pitied me. _ The miserable son of your heroes. Heroes who would never so much as  _ look your way _ , so you took the thing that was closest to their fame. Their admiration.”

“What?” she gasps, his words cutting through her like a rusty knife. Yet he appears not to hear her, his own words becoming the key to opening the lock burying his anger, his hurt.

He bares his teeth. “But I am not someone to be pitied! A fool perhaps, because you looked pretty and I gave in,  _ but _ I am not someone you just-“

His confession baffles her, because she did not look pretty that night, and yet he tells it to her now as if it is a crime. 

 

The simmering anger below her chest, numbed by the briefness of his compliment, bursts forth – 

 

“I did pity you! I do. I still do!” she shouts. “Do you think I want this? You’re cruel, you’re...spiteful, you’re - you assume things about me! I kissed you, I tried not to, but I did. And you just walked aw-“ She blinks the tears away. “That wasn’t easy for me, and now you try to tell me about my own reasons!”

“If I’m so wrong, then tell me your reasons!” he growls, rising on his feet.

Oh they are so alike, aren’t they? The appearance of collectedness, of being in control. But there they are, two people, so attuned with anger, pushing each other’s buttons as if they had done it all their lives.

She sighs, “What does it matter? You already seem to  _ know _ .”

“Tell me your reasons.”

“No. I...this…” She rubs her eyes with the back of her left hand, he doesn’t deserve her answer. “I -”

“So it is true then.” He steps closer, using his height against her. “It was about my parents? I knew Carise was ri-“

“Carise’s kriffing assassin almost killed me today!” she shouts, tears welling. “So if you don’t mind, I don’t exactly trust her judgement about me!”

He stops, the anger abruptly leaving his face. “She what?”

Her mouth shuts, cursing her anger for revealing too much, knowing exactly where her careless disposition took her last, or at least left her with broken bones and bruises.

He steps closer, but not to intimidate her. His eyes are narrowed in concern. 

 

She takes another step back.

 

“What did she do, Rey?” His voice is harsh, commanding, and when she doesn’t reply, he grasps her broken wrist.

Rey  _ cries _ out in pain – at which he falters, cradling the bandaged part more carefully, watching her face intently. A tear escapes her eye, and his gaze follows it as it trails down her jaw, dropping to her feet. 

 

“When?” he tries. His hate seemingly vanished like a droplet of water on the sun.

There’s no point in lying, she guesses. “This afternoon.”

“And you haven’t seen a medic? Rey your wrist is-“

“I know what it is! It’s my hand.”

He gives her a long hard stare before suddenly looking around the room, jaw tight, as if searching for  _ something _ . Unconcerned with the argument they are - were having, about Carise, his parents, that she’s pretty and-

“Put the blaster down,” he commands, “and the staff.” He releases her wrist to open the door to the ‘fresher. “Go sit on the bed.”

Rey hears the faucet turn on, but doesn’t move, stupefied by the turn of events, the broken wrist resting lax at her side. He returns with a bowl of water in his hands, and seeing her still standing, he gives her a testy look. “Are you ignoring me out of spite or did you not hear what I said?”

She frowns, and with some reluctance, removes the staff and places it against the wall, then limps towards his bed, sitting just on the edge, and places the blaster next to her, close enough that should she need it, she can get it. She argues that her sudden compliance has more to do with her being tired than any interest in what he wants her to do.

 

Ben puts the bowl between them, apparently finding it necessary to put some space between them as well. It’s both comforting and slightly discomforting. 

He hands her a washcloth. “For your face.” And when she doesn’t react, he forces it into her  _ working _ hand, and reaches for the other.

Her skin tingles the moment he draws her broken wrist into his lap, using both hands to turn it gently as if to inspect it. The washcloth remains still in her other hand as she, with some curiosity and fear, tries to deduce what he intends to do. 

 

His fingers remove the hastily thrown together bandage, revealing the bruised skin. He huffs at the sight and begins to pull on the glove. Rey bites her cheeks to keep from screaming in pain the moment he carefully yanks it off. Her hand looks strange, bending awkwardly to the side.

He frowns.

“I’m not good at this,” he grumbles with some reluctance, and lifts his right hand so it hovers over the break.

Then he turns to look her directly in the eyes, and the only thought that goes through her mind is how beautiful he appears, how the moonlight from behind him casts him in an almost divine light. Like an angel.

“It might feel strange, but don’t be afraid,” he tries to say, the words sounding odd in his mouth.

But it does. It really does feel strange.

She has no words to describe it, because it is neither pleasant nor painful, but it’s like things are moving, being put together. Her skin crawls, feeling warm and cold with a creeping sensation below it. There’s sweat on his brow and trailing down his cheek as he undoes the damage within her.

She watches him for a long time, more so than she watches how the bruise slowly gets paler and then disappears and she has no idea how long they stay like this, but at some point he drops her hand and she flexes it. The pain is gone, like it was never there, the whole terrible afternoon erased with his gentleness and his talent.

A sweetness grows again in the pit of her stomach, and like a slowly growing vine it drills itself through the anger and resentment. Softly, leisurely. With every kind gesture he makes.

Then he grabs her foot, the one that hurts, and raises it to his lap. He doesn’t say anything as he tugs off the boot and sock and starts again. Rey feels a blush grow on her cheeks when she realizes that he’s using the Force to heal her. She didn’t even know you could do that?

And when he’s done with that, he places it back down. She turns her ankle, feeling no resistance, no stinging.

“I need you to take that off.” Ben asks, almost kindly, gesturing towards her tunic. Her cheeks grow hotter, and she feels her throat contract, so she nods quickly, looking away as she pulls it over her shoulders, revealing her sweat-drenched undershirt. He moves the bowl a bit and scoots closer. 

 

Her breath catches, but she knows she can’t keep him at bay through all of it, if she wants him to heal her cut too.

A small smile tugs at his lips, when he sees the cut. “You’re a piece of work aren’t you?” His fingers trace the outline of the spot where the blade had sliced her. “You’ve really managed to hurt yourself.”

Cheeks aflame, she mutters a ‘ _ switch off’ _ , which he surprisingly adheres to, or maybe it’s because mending breaks and damaged skin requires a lot of concentration. So she watches him, and while he claimed he wasn’t skilled at it, Rey finds herself without any complaints about his work. 

 

The air around them swirls, buzzing and pure, like they are caught between a million gentle butterflies that flutter their soft wings against and inside of them.

And then he stops, inspects his work, and frowns slightly. He says a bit breathily, “I’m sorry. It’ll scar.”

“It’s fine,” she says in a small voice, feeling suddenly shy. Her heart stutters in her chest.

He nods, and then turns to look her in the eyes. A smile grows. “Do you need me to do all of it?”

“What?” she deadpans.

Ben shakes his head, his expression neutral yet mirthful, and grabs the now cold wet cloth from her hand as he grabs her chin. “Stay still.”

“What are you doi –“ Rey stammers.

“Helping you.”

“I don’t need help.”

“I know.” His hand is rough, playful, as he rubs her skin, almost like he’s punishing her. She sputters as he runs it over her mouth.

It’s so unlike them, this easiness they’ve suddenly found. So unlike anyone Rey has ever known. 

 

The sweetness that was so light before becomes heavy, sinking like a stone in her stomach. And she imagines all the things they could be, if she wasn’t what she was, if Ben wasn’t what he was. If they had met somewhere else, in some other time.

The tears begin to spill from her eyes, mixing with the wetness of the cloth.

Ben stills. “Rey?”

“I don’t want to like you,“ she confesses with a hiccup. “I really don’t.” His hand falls from her face, his mirth disappearing in favor of a grim expression. Disappointment spikes the air.

But he’s still beautiful, so handsome. His kindness so unusual, so vulnerable, and Rey has been so lonely. So lonely.

And she likes him.

So much.

The bowl spills to the floor the moment Rey cups his cheeks and forcefully straddles him, but neither reacts to it –

Because she’s kissing him.

 

Oh, how she  _ kisses _ him.

He falls to the mattress, or rather, is  _ pushed to it _ , as she pours all the warmth he made her feel into kissing him. 

 

It’s ferocious, as if she needs to teach him a lesson. To show she is not scared of him. That they can have this, just once. Except it doesn’t feel like it, it feels more right than anything else has ever felt.

He struggles against her, obviously surprised that they’d gone from arguing to kissing with so little in between, but he doesn’t stop her. Instead he bruises his lips against hers while he attempts to get comfortable below her, lying on his back on the mattress with her straddling his stomach, which is difficult to do with the vigor she uses to stay in charge.

 

He moans when she deepens the kiss. Her stomach coils at the sound. Raw and raspy.

It’s what does it for her.

With a swift move, she sits up on his stomach and pulls off the rest of her tunic, yanking at its sleeves to get it off. Get it all off. 

 

She finds that she likes this view, how he’s at her mercy, his lips swollen and chest rising and falling rapidly. How complacent he appears, as if his brain has not yet caught up with him, completely at odds with it all.

She also finds that she likes the way  _ he _ looks at her. Like there’s no other woman on Hosnian Prime. 

Or in the galaxy.

Her hands move on their own, spurred on by the glassiness of his eyes, and she grabs the hem of her sweaty undershirt and drags it over her head, revealing her bound chest and tanned stomach. It catches briefly on one of her buns. She loosens the tie and throws it somewhere across the room. Who cares.

Her chest moves fast as she gawks at his wide eyes and parted mouth.

There’s something nervous and potent in the air. Feelings churning and at odds.

He swallows, smacking his lips.

“Rey,“ Ben tries again, “you don’t owe me anything.”

“Owe you?”

He swallows once more, closing his eyes as if in pain. “I healed you because I wanted to-“

“And I want this!” she argues, a bit offended by his sudden rejection, but determined to show him that she is not like them, not like whoever hurt him before.

Her mended hands reach behind her back, angrily undoing the knot, and she begins to unravel the fabric, only to have his hand grasp hers, stilling her.

“Rey, I’m serious.” Ben tries  _ yet _ again, his nervousness spiking.

She watches him, startled by his determination, yet it's not because he is afraid. No. His eyes are warm and kind, and his hand holds hers gently. Rey is not sure what that means or why that makes him insistent on asking for her consent - but it does thaw the frustration that was beginning to take root in her mind. 

With some perhaps very misplaced confidence, she unfolds her hand within his and gently takes his to place it on her partially revealed breast, her nipples stiffening at the feeling of his warm palm on her. 

 

He makes the cutest little gasp and stares intently at how his hand rises and falls in beat with her quickening breaths. Like it is something magical, a trick of the Force.

Rey wants to smile at how easy she can unravel him, the way he repeatedly swallows, closes and opens his eyes to watch her, like there’s the discussion of the century taking place in his head. But it doesn’t last for long.

 

Slowly and gently, one side wins the argument, and with a somewhat docile expression on his face, his thumb grazes over her tight pink nipple, watching it peak, and then it dips below the bindings to reveal her, for him to see.  _ He wants to see. _

She thinks she sees him smirk, briefly, and with a more confident touch, he unbinds her, carefully leaning forward, and nuzzling his nose against the soft swell of her chest. Letting the bandages pool around them. He mouths and kisses her breasts, showering them with devotion they don’t deserve, so little, so flat - but how can she deny him? Not when this and the feeling of his hand soothingly beginning to massage her sensitive breast,  _ shoots _ like lightning straight to her core, making her clench and “- Ah!”. 

 

A curse escapes his mouth and he goes from lazily suckling on her tits, to snaking his hand around her neck (leaving goosebumps in his wake) -

 

And smashes their lips together.

She whines. She actually whines. Muffled against the soft skin of his lips, and it’s like this changes … everything. What was slow and nervous, becomes playful and heavy. Rey feels it in the way their lips and tongues move, the messiness of it all - and not always in a good way. Sometimes their teeth clash, or he bites her, or the way he rolls his tongue along hers feels strange in an ...uneasy way. 

 

Other times though, it feels amazing. When he does that thing with his tongue or she bites his lip just right. It makes them grind against each other, makes them moan and tug at the other’s clothes. And at some point, she feels her hair fall to her shoulders, ripped loose from the buns and  _ oh _ , he seems to like that. Because his fingers won’t stop playing with it. His nose nuzzles it at her neck. Breathing her in.

 

“Tell me you want this. Do you want this? Please tell me.”

Rey is not sure what  _ this _ is. She is not even sure she wants  _ it _ , or what  _ it _ entails. And honestly she came here to get to the bottom of the mystery of why someone tried to kill her and broke into her room. But as with everything else, as it has always been between the two of them, they distract each other, drown each other in some pool of banter and passion.

And Rey wonders if that is perhaps the intention behind all of it. To have them stay out of it, to have them sink to the bottom of their shared ocean, lost and marooned, unconcerned with the conditions in the outside world.

Because that is exactly how Rey feels now.

 

Drowning.

 

Uncaring.

 

There’s only him and her.

 

Like it was always supposed to be this way. Despite her only having known him for two months. 

So, if she has to be honest, she doesn’t know if she wants  _ this _ , but she knows she  _ can’t let it go _ .

But she can’t speak those words, not to him, not when she doesn’t know what it means. And so she settles instead for just kissing him and touching him  _ everywhere _ . 

 

_ Everywhere _ .

 

He groans when she suckles at his collarbone, his hips moving against her ass and oh - he’s hard. Very hard.  

 

Rey grins against his shoulder, returning the favour by rubbing her back against  _ him _ , relishing the small sounds he involuntarily makes. And for a while that’s fun and tantalizing -  but it also makes her hot, wet, and aching in her core, in her chest. Her body begs her for more, to take this further. 

 

And Rey wants to too. Wants to do what they do in the contraband holos she found on starships. Wants to do what she has dreamt of him doing every night since he took her out in his X-wing.

 

She will have it.

With palms flat against his chest, she pushes him down gently while attempting to kiss him, and tries to take off her pants. It’s a feat made more difficult because she refuses to stop straddling him, and after a good few minutes of tumbling about (and accidentally biting his jaw) she relents and falls to the side on her back to fully push them down. It makes her feel a bit uncouth and awkward. But he appears to disagree, from the way his throat bobs, blatantly gawking at the newly revealed tanned skin, and begins to rub his face, almost as if he’s trying to pinch himself to check if they are really doing this.

 

It makes her smile, giddy and hopeful, before turning onto her stomach and feeling a tingle settle in her belly, fluttering around and threatening to take her with it.

 

Maybe he feels it too? Because he won’t stop touching her, bruising her mouth, pulling at her waist to get her closer. She chuckles against his mouth, because if he keeps this up she’ll never be able to remove her underwear, and only with some vigilance is she able to rip them off and fling them to some corner of the bedroom.

 

He hums against her hair, while his hand traces a pattern onto her hip, his eyes taking in the landscape of her body. More shyly he looks at her center - and his uninhibited attention makes her bold.

 

Very bold.

 

And with a giggle in her chest, she throws her leg across his hips, running her hands up the planes of his stomach through his shirt, for once not feeling ashamed of remembering that one time they had run into each other in the hallway on Birren.

“I want this - you,” she admits. She’s shy and lovesick and he’s so beautiful there below her, his dark curly hair spread around his face like a magnificent halo. 

 

She imagines how she’ll ride him, letting him inside. How she’ll howl in pleasure like those women in the holos did. Throw her hair back like someone sophisticated goddess, while he grunts and chants her name. 

 

It’ll probably feel amazing. It had looked like it would.

 

His cheeks redden. “Okay,” he swallows, “okay”

But when her curious hand slowly starts to trail towards his crotch, he stiffens, his mouth tightens. And Rey hesitates, because she has never done this - is there a protocol for it? (No, don’t judge). She does know  _ where _ to go.

Her hands shake as she undoes the fastening on his pants, perhaps out of excitement, or maybe nervousness. Her fingers slip on the buttons, and she senses his growing tenseness, how flustered he is below her. Or maybe that’s her?

 

Later, she would admit that it was only pure determination that enabled her to overcome her increasing self-doubt. Her heart hammers in her chest and a sweat breaks on her forehead, yet she bulldozes on.

 

That all disappears the moment she snakes her curious fingers down his pants, below his underwear and  _ wraps _ her hand around his length, warm and solid against her palm. 

 

He moans.  _ Loudly _ . Straightening his back in response. 

 

If he had neighbors they would surely have heard, and somehow that knowledge pleases her. And with only holos to go from, she cautiously takes him fully in hand and experimentally  _ pumps _ him.

“Fuc-“ he gasps, bringing his powerful hands to her waist, gripping her tightly. His nails dig into her skin.

 

Rey wants to laugh, but not because it’s funny. No, she wants to laugh at how impossible this all seems. How she with just her lips and hands can make a magnificent Force user like him fall apart.

 

She feels powerful. Drunk on it.

 

She needs to hear it again. 

His cock - she believes that’s the term - is warm and pulsing in her hand and she strokes him like she has seen done, up and down, watching intently how he pants below her. There is less talking, she finds, more watching and gasping, unlike the dirty words the actors usually spit. Who has time for talking during this? Not with how overwhelming it feels.

 

And the more she touches him, the more she feels herself  _ burn _ within, like her own body knows what this is, what it wants from him.

 

She knows what to do. 

Dropping him from her hands, she quickly rises up on her knees, spreading them further apart as she wiggles herself so she’s above  _ him _ . Ben licks his lips and watches her move her core, so his head rubs rubs against her folds, tickling her.

 

A half-whine, half-laugh escapes her and he appears to like that, because he groans in response, his hands tightening again on her waist. Perhaps unintentionally or not, he sets a rhythm, guiding her hips so they move over and against his cock. Rey blushes at the sight, but it’s hard not to want more, not with how Ben gazes so reverently at her, watching her enjoy him with an expression best described as  _ awestruck _ .

 

She stops him with a hand on his chest, stilling his hands, knowing that while this is fun, she wants to try to have him inside, and so she takes one deep breath - 

 

And she slides down onto him.

It ... _ stings _ .

Rey whimpers, grimacing. The new fullness within her is odd and tight.

“Rey?” he rasps, a concerned look on his face.

“I’m oka-“ She tries again, sliding further down, trying to take all of him, wanting this to happen, but nothing changes, the pain persists.

 

Maybe it’s supposed to be like that? Some of the women had cried in pain, or maybe passion, she’s not sure anymore, because -

Ben sits up in response, his arm cradling her waist, bringing her close to him. He speaks her name again, but she just shakes her head, panting, resting her forehead on his collarbone. She feels him struggle, the tightness is probably good for him, but he remains motionless.

It’s touching, really, the tenderness with which he does this with her.

 

It surprises her too.

He kisses her hair, then her temple, making her pull away so he can see her face. All while whispering words of comfort, words of compassion, kissing her cheek and then her lips.

He really does kiss rather well.

And that’s how they stay, wordless, but not quiet. Moaning and gasping, lips smacking and with every slow drag of his tongue, she finds herself wanting more, needing more, and begins to move.

Slowly, but moving.

He bites her neck in response and she clenches back in surprise. And with more determination than actual physical pleasure, she moves harder against him. It’s not about that anyway, maybe it never was, not now at least. Rey just needs to be close to him, feel him, how right it is, and...

“Shi-!” He shouts, clutching her close to him, his nails digging into her skin. She feels his cock pulsing inside for a brief moment and then –

He goes very very still.

“Shit,” he mumbles into her skin, hands smoothing on her back. “ _ Shit _ .”

 

Oh.

*

Rey thinks she hears a loud bang from the ‘fresher, but decides not to investigate, instead pulling up her shirt to her naked chest. The air conditioner blows cold against her exposed body, no longer sheltered by the heat of Ben.

Who for some reason had fled into the ‘fresher immediately after their tryst.

She frowns. She’s not sure what usually follows …this. Most holos had cut away around the same time as Ben had come inside her.

Should she leave? Should she stay? He had seemed very upset about it as soon as he had finished. Excusing himself as he had hurried out of his bed. Maybe that’s some sort of secret code or a gentleman’s way of allowing you to wrap up without the awkwardness of a goodbye?

She watches the door, growing more and more unsure the longer he stays inside. And with a burning feeling in her chest, she collects her things and puts them on, stuffing her undershirt into her pants and throwing the tunic on. 

 

And the more clothes she puts on, the more she thinks this was a mistake. Because he had almost appeared disgusted with her, why else would he need to flee so fast? Was she so repulsive? Such a bad lay? The need to get out of here before he hurts her begins to slowly overwhelm her. Her eyes search for the remainder of her stuff, and where did the blaster go?

“Rey?” She hears him speak from behind her, sounding confused. “Are you…leaving?”

She straightens her shoulders and takes one deep calming breath before she slowly turns to him. He’s still barechested, his pants are now drawn back up to his hips, but opened. He’s breathing hard. His eyes dark and wild.

Rey swallows, “I- I didn’t know if you wanted me to…stay?”

His mouth shuts immediately, lips moving in a secret thought, briefly looking over to the wrinkled covers on the bed, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. If Rey didn’t know him better, how quick he is to anger, she would almost believe he appeared…shy. But about what? Mere minutes ago he had suckled bruises onto her skin, made obscene sounds, and touched her where no one else had ever touched her. What is there to be shy about?

Yet, Rey finds herself suddenly a bit timid too, her fingers rubbing on the hem of her shirt, before spotting the blaster on the far side of the bed. Perfect timing. She crawls over the bed to grab it, hoping he won’t make it difficult or shame her. 

 

What if he wants to do it again? Rey is not sure she’d even want to, especially with how -

 

The bed dips next to her, and she stops, watching as he struggles with the question on his lips.

“Did…I- Did you?“ He sighs, clearly frustrated with himself. “Was it good…for you?”

She stops, dropping the hand reaching for the blaster, and sits down on her knees.

 

“I ...don’t know.” He visibly  _ flinches _ at her answer, his eyes sad and hurt. It makes Rey want to hug him. Would he even want that? “Was it good for you?”

“Very,” he replies with no hesitation. His fingers fumble with the bedding, not completely looking at her. His mouth moves like there are a million things he wants to say, to ask, but none of them find their way to his lips, and they end up just sitting there quietly.

“Ben?” Rey asks, feeling a bit concerned. She scoots closer to him, and he turns his eyes up a bit to look at her. His longing is clear and thick in the air, his self-loathing too. Her heart beats a bit faster, and it’s her compassion for him that makes her place her hand over his.

And perhaps that was the sign he needed, the spark that reaffirmed something within, because he leans forward and kisses her once more, sweeter and gentler than any of the other kisses they’ve shared. Almost as if he needs to convince her they are okay. That this is okay. 

 

Rey presses back against his kiss with no passion, just kindness. And she thinks it might count as a  _ good night _ , a  _ thank you _ \- except he looks somewhat heartbroken when he pulls away.

They can’t have that. 

 

So, she kisses him again. And then he kisses her. And perhaps that is what changes this from a simple tryst to...something else. Not just the two of them fucking it out of their system as some would say. There’s more to it. She starts to believe so. And Rey doesn’t really want to go home. She wants to stay, because it feels right to stay. She’s not sure she wants him to undress her, to start something again, yet all of  _ this _ doesn’t feel finished. There are spots on him she has not kissed or felt, and maybe he’ll let her.

 

They could still do that, right?

They kiss again, and again, words thrown away in favour of the only thing they seem to be able to do that doesn't ruin everything. And he grabs her waist, removes her tunic, and she yanks off her pants, but neither removes their underwear. Undoing the last ten minutes of disappointment and insecurity. 

He pulls her gently up the bed by the shoulders, his lips never far from hers, kicking the blaster onto the floor, cradling her head and her body, tugging them both underneath his sheets. And that’s all they do, letting their hands roam, letting their lips bruise.

Allowing themselves to drown in this ocean of theirs. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**
> 
> “An [Angel ](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Angel). I've heard the deep space pilots talk about them. They live on the moons of Iego, I think. They're the most beautiful creatures in the universe.” - Anakin Skywalker


End file.
